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CHARACTERISTICS 


LITERATURE, 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  THE 


(§tn\m  of  llBtingubJieh  Mtn. 


BY 


HENRY  T.  TUCKERMAN. 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  ITALIAN  SKETCH-BOOK,"  "ISABEL,  OR  A  PILGRIMAGE  THROUGH  SICILY," 
"THOUGHTS  ON  TH^  POETS,"  "  \RTIST-LIFE,"  ET9. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
LINDSAY  AND  BLAKISTON. 

1849. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1849, 

By  Lindsay  and  Blakiston, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Eastern  District  of 
Pennsylvania. 


•  •  •     • 

•  •  •  • 

•  •  • 


«*  •  •  •  *  p  rfi*L  We*l  p  h  I  a  : 

C.     SHERMAN,     PRINTER, 

19  St.  James  Street. 


Tai 


l^refare. 


The  favorable  reception  of  two  previous  attempts  at  a 
series  of  analytical  portraits — one  devoted  to  celebrated  poets, 
and  the  other  to  some  of  our  native  painters — has  induced 
the  publication  of  this  volume.  Its  design  is  to  indicate  the 
chief  phases  of  the  literary  character.  The  subjects  have 
been  selected  from  their  adaptation  to  this  general  plan,  and 
with  the  hope  that,  at  a  time  when  the  influence  of  Conti- 
nental writers  is  so  prevalent,  a  few  illustrative  criticisms 
drawn  from  the  rich  field,  of  English  literature,  may  prove 
acceptable. 

New  York,  May  1849. 


^^95735 


1^-^ 


(tontB-nts. 


THE  PHILOSOPHER. 

SIR  THOMAS  BROWNE , 13 

THE  DILETTANTE. 

SHENSTONE 39        (  T 

THE  MORALIST. 

CHANNING 56        I'-i  ' 

THE  WIT. 

SWIFT ..; 80 

THE  PHILANTHROPIST. 

WILLIAM  ROSCOE 105         iS 

THE  HUMORIST. 

CHARLES  LAMB ■ 130 

THE  HISTORIAN. 

MACAULAY 171  i  ^ 

THE  IDEALIST. 

JOHN  STERLING 193  ( (, 

THE  RHETORICIAN. 

BURKE...   209  ' 

THE  SCHOLAR. 

MARK  AKENSIDE , 228  -  ^ 

THE  BIOGRAPHER. 

FINAL  MEMORIALS  OF  LAMB  AND  KEATS 256  ^ 


e   ^tiiln50pSin. 


SIR  THOMAS  BROWNE. 


There  is  something  winsome  as  well  as  venerable 
in  the  character  of  the  true  philosopher.  He,  as  well 
as  the  poet,  derives  his  charter  from  nature.  The 
term,  in  its  best  acceptation,  not  merely  designates 
the  adherents  of  a  school  of  wisdom  whether  Stoical, 
Platonic,  or  Epicurean,  but  the  man  of  liberal  and 
inquiring  mind,  who  habitually  reasons  upon  facts, 
and  to  whom  the  pursuit  of  truth  is  an  instinct,  and 
its  appreciation  a  keen  delight.  Next  to  the  great 
bards,  this  race  of  men  engage  the  affections ;  after 
the  poetic,  this  phase  of  humanity  is  most  noble.  Ap- 
proaches to  the  character  are  to  be  found  in  all  good 
diarists  and  self-biographers — for  such  writings  are 
but  collections  of  personal  incidents  and  thoughts 
more  or  less  rich  in  philosophy.  Montaigne  is  the 
prince  of  this  species,  and  old  Burton  a  fine  example  ; 
but  autobiographies,  ingenuously  composed,  furnish 
the  same  kind  of  aliment,  and  betoken  a  like  idiosyn- 
crasy. Thus  Rousseau,  Goldoni,  Alfieri,  Cellini,  and^  v^^c^r 
Boswell,  have  contributed  invaluable  materials  towards  .. 
the  science  of  life,'^  by  disclosing,  with  honesty  and  i  t  J^^ 

2  /  ' 


•••  •  •*• 


14  THE  PHILOSOPHER. 

'acunfehj^p^clfological" historic  One^of  t'Be  most  in- 
teresting specimens  of"tlie  genuine  philosopher  in  the 
annals  of  literature,  is  Sir  Thomas  Browne.  His 
candour,  scope,  and  kindliness,  united  with  bravery 
of  thought  and  originality  of  expression,  make  his 
works  attractive  beyond  any  other  of  the  old  English 
prose  writers.  The  bulk  of  the  writings  of  Sir  Tho- 
mas Browne  are\curious  rather  than  of  practical  value^ 
but  their  indirect  utility  is  greater  than  a  casual  view 
of  their  ostensible  design  would  suggest.  A  vast 
amount  of  quaint  knowledge,  a  vein  of  original  spe- 
culation, and  a  loftiness  of  conception  as  well  as  way- 
wardness of  fancy,  fix  the  mind  to  the  page  whither 
the  quaint  title  attracts  it.  The  "Enquiries  into 
Vulgar  Errors"  are  the  result  of  years  of  observation 
and  study ;  "  Christian  Morals"  forms  an  epitome  of 
religious  maxims  which  would  do  credit  to  the  best  of 
the  old  English  Divines;  "Urn  Burial,"  suggested 
by  the  discovery  of  some  ancient  urns  at  Norfolk,  in 
1658,  is  an  essay  as  remarkable  for  its  accurate  learn- 
ing as  for  the  melancholy  charm  with  which  his  de- 
vout imagination  invested  the  theme.  "  The  Garden 
of  Cyrus"  is  like  an  antique  horticultural  poem;  and 
the  very  titles  of  the  tracts  and  letters,  breathe  of 
eccentric  genius.  The  mention  of  one  will  suflGice  : 
"  On  the  Fishes  eaten  by  our  Saviour  and  his  disci- 
ples, after  his  resurrection  from  the  dead."  His  al- 
leged belief  in  witchcraft  has  been  derided,  but  this  is 
evidently  one  of  those  subjects  upon  which  he  indulges 
his  fancy  rather  than  his  reason,  and  to  which  he  al- 


SIR  THOMAS  BROWNE.  15 

ludes  in  the  preface  to  his  most  famous  work :  "  There 
are  many  things  delivered  rhetorically,  many  expres- 
sions therein  merely  tropical,  as  they  best  illustrate 
my  meaning,  and  therefore  to  be  taken  in  a  soft  and 
flexible  sense,  and  not  to  be  called  unto  the  rigid  test 
of  reason."  The  ''Letter  to  a  Friend"  is  a  noble  ofl'er- 
ing  of  personal  sympathy  and  an  eloquent  illustration 
of  religious  philosophy.  But  the  work  that  has  the 
advantage  of  voluntary,  in  distinction  to  professional, 
authorship,  and  that  eman^ed  most  directly  from 
his  consciousness,  is  the  private  compendium  of  indi- 
vidual faith,  which  became  renowned  soon  after  being 
published  under  the  title  of  Religio  Medici :  it  is  the 
most  true  and  elaborate  reflection  of  himself;  and  we 
therefore  adopt  it  as  the  basis  of  our  remarks  upon 
the  character  of  philosopher — his  native  claim  to 
which  it  amply  sustains. 

There  is  an  order  of  minds  that  cannot  take  life 
in  a  jovial  or  compromising  spirit ;  "  nobler  ever  than 
their  mood,"  some  faith,  hope  or  principle  is  needful 
to  preserve  their  equanimity.  They  must  see  things 
as  they  are,  pluck  out  the  heart  of  each  mystery,  and 
come  face  to  face  with  truth,  though  it  be  sad,  con- 
demnatory or  hopeless.  Poets  escape  outward  evil 
through  their  imaginations,  philosophers  by  their 
reason.  The  one  arrays  reality  in  the  hues  of  fancy, 
the  other  analyzes  it  in  the  crucible  of  thought ;  and, 
through  combination  or  inference,  attains  comfort. 
Perhaps  the  most  characteristic  resource  of  the  latter 
is  a  settled  conviction  that  benign,  universal,  and  in- 


16  THE  PHILOSOPHER. 

evitable  laws  obtain  not  only  in  nature,  but  in  the 
vicissitudes  of  human  life  and  the  issues  of  human 
destiny.  As  the  astronomer  serenely  confides  in  the 
starry  evolutions  and  the  mariner  in  the  needle's  in- 
clination, the  philosopher  trusts  to  the  wise  and 
kindly  results  both  of  events  and  action.  He  is  com- 
paratively patient  at  successful  charlatanism  because 
his  '^  faith  is  large  in  time  and  that  which  shapes  it 
to  some  perfect  end."  He  observes  society  not  for 
its  apparent  and  immegliate,  but  for  its  actual  and 
ultimate  tendencies.  His  calm  eye  pierces  to  the  in- 
ward fact  undimmed  by  the  atmosphere  of  circum- 
stances. He  is  a  natural  eclectic,  drawing  from  each 
system,  character,  and  party  its  true  and  desirable 
element,  and  uniting  them  into  a  harmonious  whole. 
In  human  intercourse,  he  feels  assured  that  genuine 
afiinity,  in  point  of  fact,  regulates  society ;  in  exter- 
nal occurrences  he  looks  beyond  the  seeming  fortune 
to  the  relation  it  bears  to  individual  character ;  and 
for  higher  truth,  strives  by  integrity  and  humble  pa- 
tience, to  keep  ever  in  a  recipient  state. 

^' There  is  no  liberty,"  says  our  author,  "  for  causes 
to  operate  in  a  loose  and  straggling  way,  nor  any 
effect  whatsoever  but  hath  its  warrant  from  some 
universal  or  superior  cause.  It  is  we  that  are  blind, 
not  fortune ;  because  our  eye  is  too  dim  to  discover 
the  mystery  of  her  effects,  we  foolishly  paint  her 
blind,  and  hoodwink  the  providence  of  the  Almighty. 
This  cryptick  and  involved  method  of  his  providence 
have  I  ever  admired,  nor  can  I  relate  the  history  of 


SIR  THOMAS  BROWJVE.  17 


my  life,  the  occurrences  of  my  days,  the  escapes  of 
dangers  and  the  hits  of  chance,  with  a  Bezo  las  Manos 
to  fortune,  or  a  bare  gramercy  to  my  good  stars." 

The  habitude  of  observation,  the  recognition  of 
the  world  as  a  suggestive  as  well  as  a  merely  physical 
sphere ;  the  consciousness  of  life  as  an  experience  full 
of  significance,  is  everywhere  obvious  in  Browne. 
^'The  world,"  he  says,  ''was  made  to  be  inhabited 
by  beasts,  but  studied  and  contemplated  by  man  ;  it 
is  the  debt  of  our  reason  we  owe  unto  God  and  the 
homage  we  pay  for  not  being  beasts.  The  wisdom 
of  God  receives  small  honour  from  those  vulgar  heads 
tiat  rudely  stare  about,  and  with  a  gross  rusticity 
admire  his  works ;  those  highly  magnify  him  whose 
judicious  inquiry  into  Jiis  acts  and  deliberate  research 
into  his  creatures,  return  the.  duty  of  a  devout  and 
learned  admiration.  To  raise  so  beauteous  a  struc- 
ture as  the  world  and  the  creatures  thereof,  was  but 
his  art,  but  their  sundry  and  divided  operations  with 
their  predestined  ends,  are  from  the  treasury  of  his 
wisdom." 

The  philosopher's  spirit  of  inquiry  is  as  compre- 
hensive as  it  is  habitual,  ranging  from  science  to  art, 
from  life  to  nature,  from  books  to  consciousness.  His 
pleasure  is  to  generalize.  When  the  principle  of  a 
subject,  the  central  point  of  a  character,  the  absolute 
significance  of  a  number  of  circumstances  is  attained, 
he  experiences  a  profound  satisfaction.  Truth  is  to 
the  intellect  what  love  is  to  the  heart — its  food,  ob- 
ject and  inspiration  ;  and  they  who  thus  seek  and 

2# 


18  THE  PHILOSOPHEil. 

delight  in  her  revelations  are,  by  nature,  philosophers. 
The  zest  of  life  to  them  is  to  approximate  to  reality 
through  a  wilderness  of  appearances,  and  in  saying 
that  they  best  vindicate  the  integrity  of  the  mind,  we 
mean  that  to  them  the  mind  is  an  instrument  of  use- 
fulness, happiness  and  honour-— instead  of  a  bewil- 
dering gift,  an  aimless  interrogation,  or  a  mere 
lumber-room  of  fragmentary  ideas.  A  great  charac- 
teristic of  the  true  philosopher  is  independence.  He 
is  above  prejudice ;  and  the  habit  of  viewing  every 
question  in  its  connexion  with  absolute  truth,  opens 
his  mind  to  conviction  however  opposed  to  former 
opinion.  Indeed,  the  ostensible  creed  in  religion  and 
school  of  literature,  or  party  in  politics  to  which  such 
men  are  attached,  serve  rather  as  vantage-grounds 
than  limits — as  the  particular  brigade  in  which  the 
true  soldier  is  enrolled  is  a  convenient  arrangement 
for  eliciting  his  activity  in  the  cause  for  which  he 
wages  battle,  rather  than  an  exclusive  coterie,  beyond 
which  his  sympathies  or  conceptions  cannot  wander. 
A  certain  foothold  of  conservatism  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary even  for  the  most  speculative  thinker.  Whatever 
be  the  goal  of  thought  it  must  have  a  starting  point, 
and  beyond  what  is  positive  and  defined  in  a  philoso- 
pher's data  of  belief,  he  has  a  faith  of  his  own  rather 
instinctive  than  specific — a  vague,  perhaps,  yet  actual 
trust  in  certain  grand  and  universal  principles  or  ul- 
timate results,  which  does  not  contradict  but  sustains 
the  particular  formula  to  which  he  gives  open  alle- 
giance.   In  truth  it  is  this  very  union  of  reliance  upon 


SIR  THOMAS  BROWNE.  19 

broad  principles  and  general  views  with  the  recogni- 
tion of  particular  dogmas,  which  distinguishes  the 
disciple  from  the  sectarian  in  religion,  the  statesman 
from  the  partisan  in  politics,  the  liberal  from  the 
prejudiced  in  society,  and  the  truly  philosophic  from 
the  pedantic  in  mind.  •  ^ 

The  spirit  of  inquiry  and  good  powers  of  reasoning 
are  not,  however,  the  only  essential  qualiiScations  of 
the  philosopher.  These  may  serve  him  in  material 
acquisitions,  but  uninspired  by  high  emotions,  un- 
quickened  by  imaginative  perception,  they  cannot 
bear  the  mind  beyond  the  limits  of  the  actual.  Like 
the  dying  Cleopatra,  unless  there  be  "immortal  long- 
ings," philosophy  is  bereft  of  its  hope.  Sir  Thomas 
Browne  regarded  his  acquired  knowledge  as  the  basis 
not  the  limit  of  research.  His  experiments  foretold 
a  yet  more  satisfactory  analysis.  He  found  in  cha- 
racter chiefly  promise,  in  events  discipline,  in  nature 
hints — all  suggestive  of  more  completeness  and  satis- 
faction. The  best  fact  of  his  own  consciousness  was 
a  supernal  trust,  a  sense  of  glorious  affinity.  Hence 
his  self-respect,  his  disregard  of  the  temporary,  his 
instinctive  repose  upon  the  bosom  of  nature.  He 
was  an  aspirant,  and  therefore  not  only  saw  the  foot- 
steps of  truth  in  his  path,  but  sometimes  caught 
glimpses  of  her  wings  through  an  opening  cloud.  He 
confesses  to  so  "  abject  a  conceit  of  this  common  way 
of  existence,  this  retaining  to  the  sun  and  the  ele- 
ments," that  he  "  cannot  think  this  to  be  a  man  or 
to  live  according  to  the  dignity  of  humanity."  *  *  * 


20  THE  PHILOSOPHER. 

And  again  :  "  Since  I  was  of  understanding  to  know 
we  know  nothing,  my  reason  has  been  more  pliable 
to  the  will  of  faith.  *  *  *  Where  the  soul  hath  the 
full  measure  and  complement  of  happiness;  where 
the  boundless  appetite  of  that  spirit  remains  com- 
pletely satisfied,  that  I  can  neither  desire  addition  nor 
alteration,  that  I  think  is  truly  heaven.  *  *  *  I  would 
not  entertain  a  base  design  or  an  action  that  should 
call  me  villain  for  the  Indies ;  and  for  this  only  do  I 
love  and  honour  my  own  soul,  and  have,  methinks, 
two  arms  too  few  to  embrace  myself."  *  *  *  He  was 
conscious  of  an  inlet  of  truth  above  reason,  for  he 
observes,  "it  is  but  attending  a  little  longer  and  we 
shall  enjoy  that  by  instinct  and  infusion  which  we 
endeavour  at  here  by  labour  and  inquisition." 

Among  the  merely  individual  characteristics  of  Sir 
Thomas  Browne,  was  his  love  of  music;  of  which  he 
says  "  there  is  something  of  divinity  in  it  more  than 
the  ear  discovers ;"  and  his  irreverence  for  antiquity 
merely  as  such.  There  is  much  to  confirm  his  fanci- 
ful idea  of  a  "  revived  self,"  or  reappearance  of  forms 
of  character.  Are  we  not  often  struck  with  the  mar- 
vellous similarity  between  intimate  acquaintances  and 
historical  personages  ?  Who  has  not  known  women 
whose  brilliant  wit  and  turn  for  the  ambitious  intrigues 
of  social  life,  recalled  the  ladies  of  the  Court  of  Louis 
XIV  ?  Some  constitutions  are  decidedly  oriental  in 
their  needs  and  aptitudes,  though  born  in  a  northern 
latitude.  Tendencies  for  particular  modes  of  life  ex- 
hibit themselves  under  circumstances  which  breathe 


SIR  THOMAS  BROWNE.  21 

neither  a  memory  or  hope  in  the  same  direction.  A 
single  member  of  a  family  will  develope  traits  wholly 
at  variance  with  the  manners  and  tone  of  feeling 
around.  These  and  similar  instances  seem  to  point 
to  an  ancestral  vein  working  itself  obliquely  forth,  to . 
an  Arethusa-like  reappearance  of  some  quality  of 
blood  or  gift  of  soul,  that  has  long  wandered  under 
oblivious  waters  to  incarnate  itself  at  a  time  and  place 
the^  most  unexpected.  Therefore  well  says  our  phi- 
losopher, ''Every  man  is  not  himself;  there  have 
been  many  Diogenes,  and  as  many  Timons,  though 
but  few  of  that  name ;  men  are  lived  over  again." 

It  is  remarkable  that  the  men  whose  relish  for 
books  is  the  most  keen — who  read  sympathetically, 
not  merely  to  store  the  memory  and  weave  ties  of 
familiar  and  endearing  association  with  beloved 
authors — should  invariably  repudiate  the  idea  of  an 
extensive  library.  One  can  name  the  volumes  es- 
sential to  the  comfort  of  such  men  as  Hazlitt  and 
Shelley.  Thinkers  do  not  require  books  for  the 
information  they  convey  so  much  as  mental  stimu- 
lants and  faithful  companions.  They  can  generate 
ideas  for  themselves,  and  take  up  a  volume  as  they 
turn  to  a  friend,  for  the  refreshment  of  sympathy 
or  attrition  of  mind.  Sir  Thomas  Browne  fully 
shared  in  this  love  of  the  cream  of  literature,  and 
was  impatient  at  the  multiplication  of  books.  ''  Of 
those  three  great  inventions  in  Germany,  there  are 
two  which  are  not  without  their  incommodities,  and 
'tis   disputable  whether  they  exceed  not  their   use 


22  THE  PHILOSOPHER. 

and  commodities.  'Tis  not  a  melancholy  utinam 
of  mine  own,  but  the  desires  of  better  heads,  that 
there  were  a  general  synod ;  not  to  unite  the  in- 
compatible difference  of  religion,  but  for  the  benefit 
of  learning ;  to  reduce  it  as  it  lay  at  first  in  a  few 
and  solid  authors,  and  to  condemn  to  the  fire  those 
swarms  and  millions  of  rhapsodies  begotten  only  to 
distract  and  abuse  the  weaker  judgments  of  scholars 
and  to  maintain  the  trade  and  mystery  of  typo- 
graphers.'' 

Montaigne  compares  authorship  with  the  act  of 
pouring  water  from  one  vessel  to  another ;  and  the 
reproduction  of  old  materials  in  new  forms  isHllus- 
trated  by  all  the  brilliant  achievement  of  modern 
literature.  We  do  not,  however,  so  fully  realize  the 
identity  whenever  evolved,  of  all  true  principles,  and 
the  innate  resemblance  of  all  philosophic  observers 
of  life  and  nature.  It  has  been  well  said  that  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount  was  an  announcement,  not  a 
creation  of  truth.  The  pure  in  heart  did  not  become 
blessed  on  account  of  the  Saviour's  benediction.  It 
was  and  is  a  great  moral  fact  that  they  are  so. 
Harvey's  theory  of  the  circulation  of  the  blood  is 
spoken  of  as  a  discovery ;  but  the  law,  though  un- 
recognised, existed  from  the  moment  that  a  pulse 
quivered  in  the  wrist  of  Adam.  We  have  spoken  of 
Sir  Thomas  Browne  as  a  type  of  the  genuine  philo- 
sopher ;  and  adapting  the  ingenious  transcript  of  his 
mind,  written  for  private  satisfaction  at  the  age  of 


SIR  THOMAS  BROWNE.  23 

thirty,  first  surreptitiously  published  in  1642,*  as 
his  creed,  confession  or  theory  of  life,  it  is  curious 
to  note  how  many  ideas  which,  within  a  few  years, 
have  become  prominently  embodied  as  original — 
were  noted  by  him  as  familiar  and  personal  concep- 
tions. The  most  cherished  of  the  Swedenborgian 
doctrines  brought  comfort  to  his  soul.  We  find  a 
hint  of  the  law  of  correspondencies  in  this  passage  : 
"  The  seven  schools  shall  never  laugh  me  out  of  the 
philosophy  of  Hermes,  that  this  visible  world  is  but 
a  picture  of  the  invisible,  wherein  as  in  a  portrait, 
things  are  not  truly  but  in  equivocal  shapes,  and  as 
they  counterfeit  some  more  real  substance  in  that 
invisible  fabric."  And  that  he  recognised  somewhat 
the  new  church  view  of  the  spiritual  world,  is  evident 
from  such  observations  as  these :  "  I  hold  that  the 
devil  doth  really  possess  some  men,  the  spirit  of 
melancholy  others,  the  spirit  of  delusion  others;  that 
as  the  devil  is  concealed  and  denied  by  some,  so  God 
and  good  angels  are  pretended  by  others,  whereof 
the  late  detection  of  the  maid  of  Germany  hath  left 
a  pregnant  example.  *  *  *  I  do  think  that 
many  mysteries  ascribed  to  our  own  inventions  have 
been  the  courteous  revelations  of  spirits,  for  those 
noble  essences  in  heaven  bear  a  friendly  regard  to 
their  fellow-natures  on  earth.  *  >k  *  There- 
fore, for  spirits,  I  am  so  far  from  denying  their 
existence,  that  I  could  easily  believe  that  not  only 

*  The  Religio  Medici. 


24  THE  PHILOSOPHER. 

•whole  countries,  but  particular  persons  have  their 
tutelary  or  guardian  angels."  His  idea  of  the 
nature  of  these  beings  is  equally  significant.  "  I 
believe  they  have  an  extemporary  knowledge,  and 
upon  the  first  motion  of  their  reason  do  what  we 
cannot  without  study  and  deliberation;  that  they 
know  things  by  their  forms,  and  define  by  special 
difl'erence  what  we  describe  by  accidents  and  proper- 
ties ;  and  therefore  probabilities  to  us  may  be  demon- 
strations to  them.'' 

Lavater  and  Spurzheim  have  identified  their  memo- 
ries with  a  theory  of  expression  or  natural  language. 
A  speculative  germ  of  this  science  was  obviously  in 
the  brain  of  Sir  Thomas  Browne.  "  The  finger  of 
Grod,"  he  says,  "hath  left  an  inscription  on  all  his 
works,  not  graphical  or  composed  of  letters,  but  of 
their  several  forms,  constitution,  parts,  and  opera- 
tions, which  aptly  joined  together  do  make  one  word 
that  doth  express  their  natures.  And  truly  I  have 
observed  that  those  professed  eleemosyntoes,  though 
in  a  crowd  or  multitude,  do  yet  direct  and  place  their 
petitions  on  a  few  and  selected  persons ;  there  is 
surely  a  physiognomy  which  those  experienced  and 
master  mendicants  observe,  whereby  they  instantly 
discover  a  merciful  aspect ;  for  there  are  mystically 
in  our  faces  certain  characters  which  carry  in  them 
the  motto  of  our  souls."  One  of  the  most  popular 
books  of  the  day  is  ''  Proverbial  Philosophy,"  and 
one  of  the  most  efiective  of  its  chapters  is  that  devo- 
ted to  compensation.    In  the  Eeligio  Medici  we  have 


SIR  THOMAS  BROWNE.  25 

an  eloquent  suggestion  in  the  identical  vein.  "'Tis, 
I  confess,  the  common  fate  of  men  of  singular  gifts 
of  mind,  to  be  destitute  of  those  of  fortune,  which 
doth  not  in  any  way  deject  the  spirit  of  wiser  judg- 
ments, who  thoroughly  understand  the  justice  of  this 
proceeding,  and  being  enriched  with  higher  dona- 
tives cast  a  more  careless  eye  on  those  vulgar  parts 
of  felicity.  'Tis  not  partiality  but  equity  in  God, 
who  deals  with  us  but  as  our  natural  parents  ;  those 
that  are  able  of  body  and  mind  he  leaves  to  their 
deserts,  to  those  of  weaker  merits  he  imparts  a  larger 
portion,  and  pieces  out  the  defect  of  one  by  the  ex- 
cess of  another."  Self-reliance  has  been  the  favour- 
ite doctrine  of  recent  writers.  Carlyle,  Ohanning, 
Emerson  and  others  urge  it  on  every  occasion  with 
ingenuity  and  eloquence.  Sir  Thomas  Browne  is 
not  a  less  determined,  though  more  concise  advocate. 
''We  carry,"  he  declares,  "  with  us  the  wonders  we 
seek ;  there  is  all  Africa  and  her  prodigies  in  us  ; 
w^e  are  that  bold  and  adventurous  piece  of  nature, 
which  he  that  studies  wisely  learns  in  a  compendium 
what  others  labour  at  in  a  divided  piece  and  an 
endless  volume." 

The  cardinal  points  of  faith  to  every  sensitive 
thinker  are,  that  life  is  only  realized  through  a  com- 
plete exercise  of  mind  and  heart,  and  that  there  is 
an  .enduring  and  progressive  principle  in  the  soul 
which  makes  this  just  activity  infinitely  desirable. 
This  has  been  finely  uttered  by  the  author  of  the 
Religio  Medici.    "  There  is  surely  a  piece  of  divinity 

3 


26  THE  PHILOSOPHER. 

in  us,  something  that  was  before  the  elements  and 
owes  no  homage  unto  the  sun.  Every  man  truly 
lives  so  long  as  he  acts  his  nature,  or  in  some  way 
makes  good  the  faculties  of  himself." 

Long  ago  the  Mantuan  poet  wrote  "  Felix  qui 
potuit  rerum  cognoscere  causas"  —  a  phrase  which 
lingers  in  the  memory  of  every  reader  who  has  a 
large  organ  of  causality,  although  the  rest  of  his 
knowledge  of  Latin  has  evaporated.  And  why  is  he 
happy  who  knows  the  causes  of  things?  Because 
the  selfish  instincts  attribute  a  personal  and  direct 
motive  to  conduct  which  is  regulated  by  feelings  of 
far  more  intense  and  extensive  scope ;  because  the 
end  often  justifies  the  means ;  and  the  breadth  and 
sincerity  of  a  purpose  may  suggest  temporary' expe- 
dients, which,  viewed  by  themselves,  are  wholly  un- 
satisfactory. "  Circumstances  alter  cases,"  is  an  old 
proverb.  The  philosopher  differs  from  the  vulgar  in 
the  extent  as  well  as  the  acuteness  of  his  vision.  "I 
have,"  says  Sir  Thomas,  "  one  common  and  authen- 
tic philosophy  I  learned  in  the  schools,  whereby  I 
discourse  and  satisfy  the  reason  of  other  men : 
another  more  reserved,  and  drawn  from  experience, 
whereby  I  content  mine  own."  The  most  objection- 
able of  modern  tyrannies  is  that  of  the  press.  In  the 
United  States,  boasting  the  greatest  political  free- 
dom at  present  enjoyed,  a  man  who  can  purchase  a 
few  types  may  assail  effectually  the  reputation  of  his 
neighbour,  who,  were  he  to  utter  the  same  scandal, 
would  be  amenable  socially  to  the  laws  of  honour ; 


SIR  THOMAS  BROWNE.  27 

and  jurisprudence  has  provided  no  sufficient  remedy 
for  libel.  In  the  preface  to  the  very  treatise  we  are 
now  considering,  it  is  said  : — ''  Had  not  almost  every 
man  suffered  by  the  press,  or  were  not  the  tyranny 
therefore  become  universal,  I  had  not  wanted  reason 
for  complaint ;  but  in  times  wherein  I  have  lived  to 
behold  the  highest  perversion  of  that  excellent  in- 
vention, complaints  may  seem  ridiculous  in  private 
persons,  and  men  of  my  condition  may  be  as  incapa- 
ble of  affronts  as  hopeless  of  their  reparation."  The 
idea  of  progress  has  become  so  general  and  intense, 
that  it  has  degenerated  into  cant.  How  manfully  it 
is  recognised  in  our  author's  introduction  of  his 
work!  "It"  (the  Religio)  "was  set  down  many 
years  past,  and  was  the  sense  of  my  conceptions  at 
that  time,  not  an  immutable  law  unto  my  advancing 
judgment  at  all  times  ;  and  therefore  there  might  be 
many  things  plausible  unto  my  past  apprehension 
which  are  not  agreeable  unto  my  present  self." 

An  axiom  of  late  metaphysicians  is  the  sufficiency 
of  the  mind  and  conscience  independent  of  outward 
w^ell-being ;  and  to  repose  on  our  own  conscious- 
ness is  defined  by  not  a  few  as  the  test  of  harmo- 
nious development.  Sir  Thomas  Browne  yielded 
the  "private  station,"  not  from  any  restless  love  of 
fame,  but  through  the  presence  of  external  induce- 
ments. "  Had  not  the  duty  I  owe  unto  the  importu- 
nity of  friends,  and  the  allegiance  I  must  ever 
acknowledge  unto  truth,  prevailed  with  me,  the 
inactivity  of  my  disposition  might  have  made  these 


28  THE  PHILOSOPHER. 

suiFerings  continual;  and  time,  that  brings  other 
things  to  light,  should  have  satisfied  me  in  the 
remedy  of  its  oblivion." 

In  his  personal  history  there  is  little  either  adven- 
turous or  peculiar.  He  was  born  in  London,  in  St. 
Michael's  Parish,  Cheapside,  October  19th,  1605  ; 
and  educated  at  Winchester  School  and  Oxford.  In 
his  youth  he  travelled  extensively,  and  the  reminis- 
cences of  this  period,  which  incidentally  appear  in 
his  treatises,  evince  the  constant  exercise  of  liberal 
curiosity  in  regard  to  the  arts  and  manners  of  difi'er- 
ent  localities.  He  remained  for  the  longest  intervals 
at  Montpelier  and  Padua — the  two  most  celebrated 
schools  of  medicine  then  existing  in  Europe.  He 
took  a  degree  at  Leyden ;  and  finally  settled  at  Nor- 
wich, where  he  died  at  the  age  o'f  seventy-six. 

Of  minor  facts  relating  to  his  career,  there  is  the 
usual  paucity  which  attends  the  .life  of  a  scholar.  He 
was  knighted  by  Charles  II.,  and  during  the  political 
commotions  of  the  age^  lived  apart,  occupied  with  his 
books,  experiments  and  domestic  enjoyments.  It  is 
interesting  to  know  that  he  was  visited  by  Evelyn. 
Of  his  family,  little  has  been  recorded.  One  of  his 
sons  distinguished  himself  as  a  brave  sailor  in  the 
navy ;  and  another  became  celebrated  as  a  physician, 
and  is  mentioned  as  in  attendance  on  the  deathbed 
of  Rochester.  Of  the  daughter's  character,  we  may 
form  an  idea  by  a  single  trait  which  is  preserved  of 
her, — that  ''  she  loved  to  be  alone" — a  disposition 
indicative  of  the  philosophical  temperament  of  her 


SIR  THOMAS  BROWNE.  29 

father,  whose  memory  she  appears  to  have  deeply- 
venerated'. 

It  is  said  that  the  wits  of  the  day  made  themselves 
quite  merry  on  the  occasion  of  our  philosopher's  mar- 
riage, deeming  the  event  altogether  inconsistent  with 
his  avowed  preference  of  celibacy  and  his  wish  that 
mankind  might  ^'procreate  like  trees.''  Their  view 
of  the  subject  was  exceedingly  narrow.  Sir  Thomas 
Browne  acted,  as  well  as  wrote,  upon  honest  convic- 
tion. He  never  professed  what  he  did  not  believe  ; 
and  was  above  the  vanity  of  claiming  any  sentiment, 
however  beautiful,  or  following  any  custom,  however 
approved,  the  sanction  of  which  he  had  never  expe- 
rienced. When  the  Religio  Medici  was  written,  his  in- 
nate love  had  not  been  called  forth,  because  he  did  not 
encounter  its  appropriate  object.  He  was  singularly 
true  to  himself,  and  never  forced  or  perverted  nature, 
but  listened  reverently  for  her  spontaneous  oracles ; 
when  these  revealed  to  him  what  Croly  finely  calls 
^^  passion  made  essential,"  he  obeyed  its  impulse. 
That  it  was  on  the  principle  of  genuine  sympathy 
that  he  entered  upon  this  relation,  is  evident  from 
the  testimony  of  Whitefoot,  who  says  :  "  In  1641,  he 
married  a  lady  of  such  symmetrical  proportions  to 
her  worthy  husband,  that  they  seemed  to  come  toge- 
ther by  a  kind  of  natural  magnetism." 

There  is  a  cynical  tone  in  Dr.  Johnson's  Life  of  Sir 
Thomas  Browne,  and  its  injustice  is  only  countenanced 
by  the  adverse  spirit  manifested  in  the  extracts  from 
Whitefoot — his  intimate  friend,  whose  cordial  enco- 

3* 


30  THE  PHILOSOPHER. 

miums  are  obviously  as  trutliful  as  they  are  affec- 
tionate. The  philosopher's  character,  as  tKus  deline- 
ated, seems  to  accord  perfectly  with  the  kindliness 
and  serene  wisdom  of  his  writings.  Among  other 
characteristics  which  they  suggest,  and  which  his 
biographer  confirms,  are  such  a  thorough  modesty 
that  he  never  lost  "  an  habitual  blush,''  simplicity  of 
dress,  household  and  social  liberality,  parsimonious 
only  of  his  time ;  and  a  patience  "  founded  upon  a 
Christian  philosophy  and  sound  faith  in  God." 

-An  unreasonable  draft  is  often  made  upon  the  con- 
versational powers  of  men  of  reflection.  Their  ac- 
quaintances are  impatient  at  their  silence.  They  are 
expected  at  all  times  to  be  entertaining  ;  and  to  hold 
themselves  in  readiness  to  be  called  out  for  the  diver- 
sion of  the  company— as  Chinese  jugglers  go  through 
their  antics.  Lighter  minds  do  not  seem  to  realize 
that  occasional  silence  is  to  such  men  as  necessary  as 
sleep;  and  that  the  reason  they  talk  well  at  all,  is 
because  a  certain  amount  of  thinking  precedes  their 
utterance.  Sir  Thomas  Browne  seems  to  have  regu- 
lated his  intercourse  upon  rational  principles.  "  He 
was  excellent  company,"  we  are  told,  "with  more 
light  than  heat  in  the  temper  of  his  brain  ;  sometimes 
difiicult  to  be  engaged  in  discourse,  but  always  singu- 
lar therein,  never  trite  or  vulgar."  Strong  passions 
form  an  essential  part  of  a  vigorous  character ;  and 
we  question  the  system  which  deems  virtue  to  consist 
in  their  utter  denial.  The  constitution  of  man  indi- 
cates their  wise  regulation — not  their  entire  subver- 


SIR  THOMAS  BROWNE.  31 

sion  as  the  desirable  process.  This  we  suppose  to  be 
the  kind  of  self-control  ascribed  to  our  philosopher. 
"He  had  no  despotical  power  over  his  affections  and 
passions,  but  as  large  a  political  power  over  them  as 
any  stoic." 

There  is  an  economy  of  animal  spirits  whereby  the 
buoyancy  of  the  feelings  may  be  indefinitely  pro- 
longed. The  thoughtless  usually  suffer  despondency 
from  the  reaction  instead  of  the  absence  of  natural 
gaiety.  The  reflective,  on  the  contrary,  know  how 
to  prize  the  prolonged  ripple  of  the  stream  above  the 
temporary  gush  of  the  fountain;  and  we  are  not, 
therefore,  surprised  at  the  declaration  of  a  contem- 
porary, that  the  mood  of  Sir  Thomas  was  ''cheerful 
rather  than  merry." 

The  style  of  Sir  Thomas  Browne  may  be  thought 
to  lack  grace  by  those  whose  taste  has  been  exclu- 
sively formed  upon  the  more  polished  models  of  a 
later  day.  There  is,  however,  a  rare  charm  in  its 
grave  and  sincere  flow.  We  feel  that  a  manly  soul 
expresses  itself  by  the  very  vigour  of  the  phrases. 
It  is  an  honest  style,  unmarred  by  daintiness  or  af- 
fectation. Some  words  are  obsolete,  some  paragraphs 
introverted ;  but  a  majestic  simplicity  like  that  of 
Milton,  quaint  and  fanciful  comparisons,  such  as  be- 
sprinkle the  homilies  of  Jeremy  Taylor,  and  a  digni- 
fied and  conscious  rectitude  of  tone — the  robust  man- 
liness of  the  age  of  Elizabeth — give  energy  and 
attractiveness  to  almost  every  page.  One  of  his 
editors  aptly  calls  him  ''a  stately  Montaigne."     A 


32  THE  PHILOSOPHER. 

selection  of  aphorisms  would  best  illustrate  Sir 
Thomas  Browne's  style. 

For  philosophical  writing  we  can  imagine  no  more 
appropriate  diction.  Take,  for  instance,  a  few  of  his 
striking  illustrations  of  the  insufficiency  of  knowledge 
— how  clear,  ingenious,  yet  effective  is  the  language : 
"  For  my  own  part  beside  the  jargon  and  patois  of 
several  provinces,  I  understand  no  less  than  six  lan- 
guages ;  yet  I  protest  I  have  no  higher  conceit  of 
myself  than  had  our  fathers  before  the  construction 
of  Bahely  when  there  was  but  one  language  in  the 
world,  and  none  to  boast  himself  either  linguist  or 
critic.  I  have  not  only  seen  several  countries,  be- 
held the  nature  of  their  climes,  the  chiography  of 
their  provinces,  topography  of  their  cities,  but  under- 
stood their  several  laws,  customs,  and  policies ;  yet 
cannot  all  this  persuade  the  dulness  of  my  spirit  unto 
such  an  opinion  of  myself,  as  I  behold  in  nimbler  and 
conceited  heads  that  never  looked  a  degree  beyond 
their  nests.  I  know  the  names,  and  somewhat  more, 
of  all  the  constellations  of  my  horizon;  yet  I  have 
seen  a  prating  mariner  that  could  only  name  the 
pointers  and  the  north  star,  out-talk  me,  and  conceit 
himself  a  whole  sphere  above  me,  I  know  most  of  the 
plants  of  my  country,  and  of  those  about  me  ;  yet 
methinks  I  do  not  know  so  many  as  when  I  did  but 
know  a  hundred,  and  had  scarcely  ever  simpled  fur- 
ther than  OheapsideJ" 

In  more  rhetorical  passages,  there  is  like  absence 
of  all  the  tricks  of  fine  writing,  and  a  dignified  ease 


SIR  THOMAS  BROWNE.  33 

tliat  rises  to  eloquence  as  it  were  unawares.  What 
can  be  more  devout  in  feeling  or  earnest  in  profession 
than  the  following  ?  "I  am  sure  there  is  a  common 
spirit  that  plays  within  us,  yet  makes  no  part  of  us  ; 
and  that  is  the  Spirit  of  Godj  the  fire  and  scintilla- 
tion of  that  noble  and  mighty  essence,  which  is  the 
life  and  radical  heat  of  spirits,  and  those  essences 
that  know  not  the  virtue  of  the  sun ;  a  fire  quite  con- 
trary to  the  fire  of  hell.  This  is  that  gentle  heat 
that  brooded  on  the  waters,  and  in  six  days  hatched 
the  world ;  this  is  that  irradiation  that  dispels  the 
mists  of  hell,  the  clouds  of  horror,  fear,  sorrow,  de- 
spair ;  and  preserves  the  region  of  the  mind  in  sere- 
nity ;  whosoever  feels  not  the  warm  gale  and  gentle 
ventilation  of  this  spirit,  (though  I  feel  his  pulse,)  I 
dare  not  say  he  lives ;  for  truly  without  this,  to  me 
there  is  no  heat  under  the  tropic,  nor  any  light, 
though  I  dwelt  in  the  body  of  the  sun." 

There  is  a  class  of  independent  thinkers  who  vin- 
dicate the  integrity  of  the  human  mind.  Genius 
works  mysteriously ;  her  children  often  seem  uncon- 
scious agents  rather  than  voluntary  creators.  There 
is  a  feverish  unrest,  a  spasmodic  vitality  in  their 
mental  being,  which  leads  the  calm  observer  of  life 
to  consider  their  destiny  quite  undesirable.  A  deep 
melancholy  broods  over  their  highest  triumphs  ;  their 
course  though  glorious  is  erratic,  and  a  sense  of  mis- 
placed feeling,  incomplete  humanity — of  a  peculiarity 
which  isolates  while  it  distinguishes — a  gift  that 
dooms  at  the  same  time  that  it  enriches — assures  us 


r 

34  THE  PHILOSOPHER. 


that  even  great  endowments  have  their  attendant 
shadows.  Schiller  with  all  his  admiration  of  Goethe 
was  repelled  by  his  systematic  egotism.  He  could 
not  love  him  as  he  wished,  because  of  that  determined 
self-concentration  which,  while  it  did  not  check  bene- 
volence, kept  back  ever  the  most  precious  of  gifts-— 
himself.  And  with  all  Schiller's  own  generosity — a 
disturbing  element  so  marred  the  serenity  of  his  con- 
sciousness, that  he  welcomed  death,  because  as  it 
approached,  he  felt  ^^  calmer  and  calmer."  The  prac- 
tical insight  of  Macaulay  recognised  the  inevitable 
contingency,  to  which  we  allude,  when  he  passes 
from  the  men  of  action  to  the  poets — declaring  of  the 
latter,  as  Dr.  Johnson  did  of  the  whole  human  race, 
that  they  are  never  wholly  sane.  An  overplus  of  the 
imaginative  faculty  leads  to  an  erroneous  estimate  of 
actual  things ;  keen  sensibilities  barb  the  arrows  of 
life;  and  habits  of  constant  reflection  give  a  mor- 
bid hue  to  the  most  ordinary  experience;  and  yet 
one  or  the  other  of  those  characteristics  belongs  by 
nature,  to  the  class  we  designate  as  men  of  genius. 
So  generally  admitted  is  this  fact  that  we  instinct- 
ively separate  the  products  of  such  minds  from  the 
individuals;  we  enjoy  their  works,  but  deem  the 
authors  but  partially  reliable.  It  is  as  if  what  is 
really  true  and  healthy  in  them  instead  of  appearing 
in  life — as  is  the  law  of  human  nature  in  general — 
embodied  itself  in  a  form  of  art — leaving  the  man 
somewhat  deficient,  perplexed  or  weakened  in  his  re- 
lations to  the  actual — as  the  pearl  is  bred  at  the 


SIR  THOMAS  BROWNIE.  35 

expense  of  vitality  and  the  flame  of  combustion. 
Perhaps  the  tender  reverence  in  which  noble  souls 
hold  this  species  of  men,  springs,  in  a  measure,  from 
pity,  as  chivalry  towards  women  is  occasioned  by  a 
sense  of  their  weakness  as  well  as  admiration  of  their 
charms.  Doubtless  works  of  absolute  genius  are  the 
greatest  evidences  of  the  power  and  enduring  destiny 
of  the  human  mind  ;  but  in  their  very  nature — they 
spring  from  the  excess  of  a  special  development — 
from  overflowing  sensibility — profound  reflection  or 
exuberant  fancy.  The  true  felicity  of  intellectual 
life — the  mind  that  is  a  kingdom  in  the  sense  of  the 
brave  old  English  poet — in  a  word,  sufiicient  by  its 
integrity  and  genial  resources — is  not  so  well  illus- 
trated by  men  of  remarkable  genius,  as  by  those  of 
more  balanced  powers  and  catholic  tastes,  who  ob- 
serve as  much  as  they  reflect,  and  are  capable  of 
finding  mental  pabulum  in  the  ordinary  course  of  life 
and  the  regular  transitions  of  nature. 

The  freedom  and  insight  of  the  true  philosopher  in- 
duces nobility  of  soul ;  and  this  is  beautifully  manifest 
in  the  character  of  Sir  Thomas  Browne.  His  charity 
is  all-embracing,  and  a  sense  of  the  natural  dignity  of 
man  endeared  to  his  heart  the  lowliest  of  the  race. 
Self,  through  the  breadth  of  his  calm  wisdom,  "passed 
in  music  out  of  sight."  Charles  Lamb  said  of  books, 
that  Shaftesbury  was  not  too  fine  for  him  nor  Tom 
Jones  too  low.  Thus  Sir  Thomas  regarded  men,  dis- 
cerning ever  a  redeeming  feature  or  ground  of  interest. 
He  could  scarce  retain  his  prayers  for  a  friend  at  the 


36  THE  PHILOSOrHER. 

ringing  of  a  bell ;  and  declares  himself  of  a  '^  consti- 
tution so  general,  that  it  consorts  and  sympathizes 
■with  all  things."  It  would  be  difficult  to  find  in  the 
whole  range  of  English  literature  a  more  humane 
and  generous  utterance  than  that  contained  in  the 
opening  of  the  second  part  of  the  Eeligio  Medici.  It 
is. a  quaint  elaboration  of  the  maxim  of  Terence,  and 
a  prosaic  expression  of  Burns',  "  a  man's  a  man  for 
a'  that."  How  noble  his  sentiments  in  regard  to 
mental  acquirements,  and  in  w^hat  pitiful  contrast 
appears  the  miser-like  economy  of  ideas  which  nar- 
rows the  converse  of  modern  authors !  "I  intend 
no  monopoly,  but  a  community  in  learning ;  I  study 
not  for  my  own  sake  only,  but  for  theirs  who  study 
not  for  themselves.  I  envy  no  man  who  knows  more 
than  myself,  but  pity  them  that  know  less.  I  instruct 
no  man  as  an  exercise  of  my  knowledge,  or  with  an 
intent  rather  to  keep  alive  in  mine  own  head  than 
beget  and  propagate  it  in  his ;  and  in  the  midst  of 
all  my  endeavours  there  is  but  one  thought  that 
dejects  me,  that  my  acquired  parts  must  perish  with 
myself,  nor  can  be  legacied  among  my  honoured 
friends."  These  noble  sympathies  w^hich  distinguish 
the  genuine  philosophic  character)  are  not  at  all 
incompatible  with  discrimination  of  taste  and  indi- 
viduality of  feeling.  Perhaps  they  throw  the  mind 
more  directly  back  upon  primal  resources  and  detach 
conscious  identity  from  outward  relations  more  tho- 
roughly than  sympathies  apparently  less  difixise. 
This  "general  and  indifferent  temper"  in  Browne, 


SIR  THOMAS  BROWNE.  37 

was  allied  to  marked  peculiarities  both  of  disposition 
and  opinion.  He  was  no  radical  believer  in  human 
equality  as  the  phrase  is  generally  regarded.  He 
had  gone  too  near  the  heart  of  nature  not  to  have 
faith  in  what  he  terms  "a  nobility  without  heraldry;" 
and,  like  all  thoughtful  observers,  was  sceptical  as  to 
the  miracles  attributed  to  education  and  circum- 
stances in  their  influence  on  character.  What  de- 
serves that  name  he  thought  inborn,  original  and 
prevailing ;  and  hence  deemed  it  a  ''  happiness  to 
grow  up  from  the  seeds  of  nature,  rather  than  the 
inoculation  and  enforced  graft  of  education." 

Sir  Thomas  Browne  knew  how  to  reconcile  fidelity 
in  detail  with  expansive  views.  Opinion  plumed  in- 
stead of  clipping  the  wings  of  his  thought.  He  felt 
that  in  all  the  facts  of  humanity  there  was  a  germ  at 
least  of  truth,  which  sanctioned  to  his  eye  even  her 
incongruous  aspects  and  superstitious  errors.  He 
begins  his  confession  of  faith  by  announcing  himself 
a  Christian,  but  adds  that  pity  rather  than  hate  fills 
his  heart  towards  Turks,  Infidels,  and  Jews, — "ra- 
ther contenting  myself  to  enjoy  that  happy  style, 
than  maligning  those  who  refuse  so  glorious  a  title." 
In  accordance  with  this  spirit  he  thought  "  a  resolved 
conscience  could  adore  her  Creator  anywhere;"  that 
"it  is  the  method  of  charity  to  suffer  without  re- 
action," and  that  "there  is  yet,  after  all  the  decrees 
of  councils  and  the  niceties  of  the  schools,  many 
things  untoucht,  unimagined,  wherein  the  liberty  of 

4 


38  THE  PHILOSOPHER. 

an  honest  reason  may  play  and  expatiate  with  se- 
curity." 

The  pursuit  of  truth,  not  the  attainment  of  an 
idealj  the  knowledge  of  the  actual  rather  than  the 
enjoyment  of  the  illusive,  is  the  aim  of  such  minds. 
The  ruling  passion  is  liberal  curiosity.  They  ques- 
tion the  facts  of  each  day  not  to  force  them  into  the 
support  of  a  cherished  theory,  or  to  exaggerate  and 
embellish  them  by  the  light  of  their  own  imagina- 
tion, but  simply  to  assay  them  in  the  balance  of 
truth,  to  glean  from  them  whatever  genuine  import 
they  afford,  or  arrange  them  among  unexplained 
problems  for  future  combination  and  inference.  The 
mental  position  ordained  by  this  very  constitution  is 
that  of  inquiry.  The  truth  attained  is  only  one  of  a 
series  of  progressive  convictions  which,  like  the  difr 
ferent  elevations  of  a  mountain  range,  open  new  and 
successive  vistas.  The  philosopher  does  not  climb 
the  heights  of  knowledge  to  collect  rare  pebbles  to 
arrange  into  brilliant  pictures  for  immediate  effect, 
as  Sheridan  gathered  fragments  of  wit  for  his  come- 
dies and  figures  for  his  rhetoric;  nor  to  pick  wild 
flowers  for  elegiac  garlands,  such  as  Gray  wove  to 
cast  on  the  sepulchre ;  but  to  reach  a  more  bracing 
atmosphere,  behold  more  vast  prospects,  and  draw 
nearer  to  the  stars  ! 


t   MiUWmU. 


SHENSTONE. 


A  FRIEND  of  mine  recently  purchased,  at  auction, 
an  old  copy  of  Shenstone.  It  is  illustrated  with  a 
portrait  and  frontispiece  representing  some  kind  of 
aquatic  bird  peering  up  from  among  the  reeds,  by  the 
side  of  a  little  waterfall.  There  is  an  eulogistic  pre- 
face by  Dodsley,  several  pages  of  tributary  verse, 
and  a  map  of  the  bard's  rural  paradise.  The  care 
bestowed  upon  the  work,  indicates  the  estimation  in 
which  Shenstone  was  held  by  his  contemporaries; 
and  it  is  a  singular  evidence  of  the  mutation  of  taste 
to  compare  these  effusions  with  the  order  of  poetry 
now  in  vogue.  There  is  a  class  of  readers  who  deem 
the  praises  lavished  upon  the  modern  English  poets 
extravagant ;  who  are  impatient  at  Talfourd's  refined 
analysis  of  Wordsworth,  and  Jefirey's  laudation  of 
Campbell.  If  such  cavillers  would  glance  at  the 
volumes  before  us,  and  note  how  tamely  the  changes 
are  rung  on  Damons,  Melissas,  Philomels  and  Cyn- 
thias,— how  Phoebus  is  invoked  and  Delia  dawdled 
over;  what  rhymes  elegiac  wind  along  as  if,  like 
Banquo's  issue,  they  would  stretch  to -the  crack  of 
doom, — and  then  turn  to  the  spirited  apostrophes  of 
Byron,  or  the  exquisite  sentiment  of  Tennyson,  they 


k 


40  THE  DILETTANTE. 

would  feel,  by  the  force  of  contrast,  what  a  glorious 
revolution  has  taken  place  in  English  poetry.  No- 
thing can  appear  more  flat  than  many  of  Shenstone's 
pathetic  verses.  They  are  written  usually  in  that 
sing-song,  die-away  measure,  of  which  "  Pity  the  sor- 
rows of  a  poor  old  man"  is  the  everlasting  type. 
Here  and  there  a  happy  epithet  or  well-chosen  image 
relieves  the  insipidity  of  the  strain ;  but  in  general 
a  thorough  Laura-Matildaish  tone,  so  admirably  sa- 
tirised in  "Eejected  Addresses,"  palls  upon  the  ear 
with  a  dulcet  but  senseless  monotone : 

"  Where  is  Cupid's  crimson  motion  ? 

Billowy  ecstasy  of  wo! 
Bear  me  straight,  meandering  ocean, 

Where  the  stagnant  torrents  flow." 

The  best  verses  of  the  occasional  poems,  are  such  as 
these  ; 

"  O  may  that  genius,  which  secures  my  rest, 

Preserve  this  villa  for  a  friend  that's  dear, 
Ne'er  may  my  vintage  glad  the  sordid  breast, 

Ne'er  tinge  the  lip  that  dares  be  insincere. 


Thou  knowest  how  transport  thrills  the  tender  breast. 
Where  love  and  fancy  fix  their  opening  reigli ; 

How  nature  shines  in  holier  colours  drest. 
To  bless  their  un^on,  and  to  grace  their  train. 


Let  Ceylon's  envy'd  plant  perfume  the  seas, 
'Till  torn  to  season  the  Batavian  bowl ; 

Ours  is  the  breast  whose  genuine  ardours  please. 
Nor  need  a  drug  to  meliorate  the  soul." 


SHENSTONE.  41 

Such  is  the  usual  strain  of  Shenstone.  Did  space 
allow,  we  would  extract  the  Ballad  of  Nancy  of  the 
Vale,  to  contrast  it  with  "Poor  Susan;"  and  the 
"Dying  Kid"  with  the  "White  Doe  of  Rylstone," 
in  order  to  illustrate  what  a  .reaction  from  the  ex- 
treme of  artificial  pathos  to  the  heart  of  nature, 
modern  poetical  genius  has  undergone ;  or  we  would 
place  the  "Jemmy  Dawson"  of  Shenstone  beside 
Hood's  "Dream  of  Eugene  Aram,"  to  make  pal- 
pable to  the  dullest  intellect,  how  the  more  sympa- 
thetic and  enlightened  humanity  of  later  bards,  has 
thrown  a  true  moral  sadness  around  crime.  It  is  the 
same  in  poems  of  the  afi'ections.  What  fresh  and 
natural  life  renders  Barry  Cornwall's  love  songs 
instinct  with  vital  beauty,  and  how  real  appears  the 
earnestness  of  Mrs.  Hemans,  notwithstanding  the 
monotony  of  her  strain !  Shenstone's  memorable 
production  is  "The  Schoolmistress" — a  sketch  drawn 
minutely  from  life,  and  in  versification  and  style, 
imitated  closely  from  Spenser.  It  is  one  of  those 
characteristic  and  truthful  pictures  of  real  life, 
which  artistically,  yet  naturally  executed,  like  Gold- 
smith's "Deserted  Village,"  and  "Gray's  Elegy," 
has  a  permanent  niche  in  the  temple  of  the  British 
muses.  It  is  curious,  with  the  sweet  fancifulness  of 
the  Fairy  Queen,  the  lofty  idealism  and  elegiac  pa- 
thos of  Shelley's  Adonais,  or  the  rhetorical  energy 
and  intense  picturesqueness  of  Childe  Harold,  present 
in  the  mind,  to  turn  to  the  simple  imagery  of  the 

same  stanza  in  the  "Schoolmistress."     The  whole 

4* 


42  THE  DILETTANTE. 

description  is  said  to  have  been  taken,  to  the  veriest 
details,  from  the  old  dame  who  taught  Shenstone  in 
infancy ;  and  we  copy  three  of  the  first  stanzas  as 
examples  of  humble  description  in  Spenserian  verse, 
as  well  as  to  give  a  fair  idea  of  the  tenor  of  this 
favourite  household  poem  : 

"  And  all  in  sight  doth  rise  a  birchen  tree, 
Which  leaning  near  her  little  dome  did  grow; 
Whilom  a  twig  of  small  regard  to  see, 
Tho'  now  so  wide  its  waving  branches  flow; 
And  work  the  simple  vassals  mickle  wo  ; 
For  not  a  wind  might  curl  the  leaves  that  blew, 
But  their  limbs  shuddered,  and  their  pulse  beat  low  ; 
And  as  they  lookM  they  found  their  horror  grew, 
And  shaped  it  into  rods,  and  tingled  at  the  view. 

"  One  ancient  h€n,she  took  delight  to  feed, 
The  plodding  pattern  of  the  busy  dame; 
Which,  ever  and  anon,  impelled  by  need. 
Into  her  school,  begirt  with  chickens  came, 
Such  favour  did  her  past  deportment  claim  ; 
And,  if  neglect  had  lavished  on  the  ground 
Fragments  of  bread,  she  would  collect  the  same; 
For  well  she  knew,  and  quaintly  could  expound. 
What  sin  it  were  to  waste  the  smallest  crumb  she  found. 

"  Herbs  too  she  knew,  and  well  of  each  could  speak, 
That  in  her  garden  sipped  the  silvery  dew  ; 
Where  no  vain  flower  disclosed  a  gaudy  streak,     . 
But  herbs  for  use,  and  physick,  not  a  few 
Of  gray  renown,  within  those  borders  grew  : 
The  tufted  basil,  pun-provoking  thyme. 
Fresh  baum,  and  marygold  of  cheerful  hue ; 
The  lowly  gill,  that  never  dares  to  climb ; 
And  more  I  fain  would  sing,  disdaining  here  to  rhyme." 


SHENSTONE.  43 

It  is  almost  unprecedented  for  a  poet  to  be  re- 
membered for  his  abode,  and  yet  such  is  the  case 
■with  Shenstone.  His  writings  are  so  intimately 
associated  with  his  residence^  that  we  seldom  recur 
to  one  without  thinking  of  the  other.  In  his  day, 
landscape  gardening  was  a  novelty ;  and  his  adorn- 
ment of  his  paternal  inheritance  gratified  at  once  his 
taste,  his  indolence,  and  his  ambition. 

Yet  how  far  removed  from  the  true  principles 
of  rural  art  were  his  ideas,  may  be  realized  by 
contrasting  the  petty  artifices  to  which  he  resorted 
with  the  truly  noble  results  of  landscape  gardening 
achieved  by  our  own  accomplished  professor*  of 
this  beautiful  and  useful  science.  There  is  a  pretti- 
ness  but  no  scope  in  his  poetry,  as  there  was  fancy 
but  no  comprehensive  plan  in  the  decoration  of 
his  grounds.  In  both  he  illustrated  the  artificiality 
of '  his  day.  His  once  celebrated  abode  is  now 
only  to  be  recognised  by  a  lawn  and  a  bridge 
whiclv  yet  remain.  All  that  is  pleasing  is  the 
general  view.  Quakers  halt  there  for  refreshment, 
returning  from  Stonebridge  meeting  to  Birmingham. 
This  is  an  amusing  coincidence,  for  no  reader  except 
one  of  the  subdued  taste  of  these  ''calm  brethren'' 
would  ever  think,  while  journeying  about  Parnassus, 
of  halting  to  refresh  themselves  with  the  poems  of 
Shenstone. 

To   an   American   eye,  the   charm  of  European 

*  A.  J.  Downing. 


44  THE  DILETTANTE. 

gardens  is  rather  owing  to  the  novelty  of  their 
natural  productions  than  the  style  of  their  arrange- 
ment. The  grand  scale  of  our  scenery  renders  all 
tricks  paltry  by  comparison ;  and  the  artificial  sub- 
stitutes for  natural  diversity  give  a  scenic  rather  than 
a  picturesque  efiect.  The  elegance  of  Versailles  is 
apparent  and  unrivalled;  but  this  quality  rather 
offends  than  delights  when  applied  to  external 
nature.  At  Kome,  the  clipped,  dense  evergreens, 
weather-stained  marbles,  and  humid  alleys  of  the 
Villa-Borghese,  do  not  win  the  imagination  like  the 
vast,  uncultured  Oampagna.  A  fine  English  park, 
with  smooth  roads  intersecting  natural  forests,  is  more 
truly  beautiful  than  a  parterre  surrounded  with  fan- 
tastic patterns  of  box  or  studded  with  bowers  and 
temples,  like  the  back  scene  of  a  play.  The  famous 
villa  of  the  eccentric  nobleman  near  Palermo,  assures 
the  traveller  to  what  an  extent  a  love  of  the  grotesque 
may  be  carried  in  converting  a  residence  of  fine 
natural  capabilities  into  an  architectural  and  horti- 
cultural museum.  Indeed,  all  experiments  in  ihis 
field  of  human  ingenuity,  simply  prove  that  the  judi- 
cious adaptation  of  natural  advantages  to  beautiful 
and  useful  results,  is  all  that  can  be  wisely  attempted. 
A  clearing  here,  a  path  there,  filling  up  a  hollow, 
levelling  a  hill,  letting  in  sunshine  and  shutting  out 
the  view  of  deformity — in  a  word,  modifying  the  pri- 
mitive aspect  and  not  substituting  art  for  nature,  is 
the  sign  of  a  healthful  taste.  Such  is  the  Anglo-Saxon 
tendency  as  manifest  in  the  noble  appreciation  of  forest 


SHENSTONE.  45 

trees  by  Evelyn,  and  in  the  absence  of  the  finical  in 
most  English  and  American  rural  homesteads.  A  dis- 
position to  ornament  nature  is  altogether  French ;  and 
its  appearance  on  the  other  side  of  the  Channel,  has 
always  been  coincident  with  periods  of  conventional 
taste  in  society  and  letters.  The  formal  elegance  of 
a  French  garden  or  villa  differs  from  the  picturesque 
exuberance  of  an  American  woodland  or  an  English 
meadow,  just  as  Shakspeare  differs  from  Racine.  The 
one  lays  open  nature  for  our  cordial  recognition  ;  the 
other  trims  her  after  a  classic  or  fanciful  pattern ; 
the  one  abounds  in  suggestions,  the  other  in  techni- 
calities. 

Shenstone  represented  this  species  of  taste  both 
in  his  grounds  and  his  poems.  The  feet  of  his 
stanzas  are  ingeniously  varied,  and  so  were  the  walks 
through  his  domain.  The  flights  of  his  muse  were 
limited  to  the  horizon  of  a  small  experience,  and  the 
prospects  obtainable  on  his  estate  were  equally 
bounded.  Within  the  narrow  compass  of  his  sym- 
pathies, he  ingeniously  contrived  to  make  as  varied 
and  melodious  a  little  world  as  possible  ;  and  within 
the  boundaries  of  Leasowes,  he  Was  not  less  inventive 
—here  setting  up  a  fantastic  temple,  and  there  a 
dark  grove ;  now  turning  a  rivulet  into  a  cascade, 
and  now  surprising  his  guest  with  a  root-woven  seat 
in  an  arbour  l)eside  a  crystal  pool,  or  in  view  of  a 
pretty  vista.  He  wrote  elegies  on  his  friends,  and 
erected  funeral  urns  in  their  honour  among  his  trees. 
He  tried  to  win  admiration  by  the  sweet  monotony 


46  THE  DILETTANTE. 

of  his  verses  and  the  graceful  windings  of  his  paths  ; 
and  was  not  less  fastidious  in  the  turn  of  a  stanza, 
than  in  the  pruning  of  an  ilex. 

He  prided  himself  upon  being  anti-utilitarian. 
When  a  child,  he  always  expected  his  mother  to  bring 
him  a  new  book  from  market,  and  she,  when  ne- 
glecting to  do  so,  used  to  give  him  a  piece  of  wood 
covered  to  resemble  a  volume,  with  which  he 
went  contentedly  to  bed — thus  early  deriving  from 
an  indolent  imagination  the  satisfaction  which  active 
realities  only  yield  to  others.  He  is  said  to  have 
been  indignant  when  asked  if  there  were  'fishes  in  his 
miniature  lakes.  This  extreme  devotion  to  eye-plea- 
sure led  him  even  to  neglect  personal  comfort,  and 
he  retired  from  his  shrines  and  bowers  to  a  mean  aiid 
broken-roofed  cottage.  It  is  highly  probable  that 
the  exposure  he  there  suffered  induced  the  fever  of 
which  he  died.  The  expensive  indulgence  of  this 
peculiar  ambition  soon  brought  him  into  pecuniary 
troubles ;  and  bailiffs  intruded  where  only  guests  of 
taste  were  desired. 

There  was  something  analogous  in  the  dispositions 
of  Thomson  and  Shenstone.  The  latter  possessed 
an  amiable  temper  combined  with  the  tendency  to 
extremes  which  appears  to  be  inseparable  from  the 
poetic  idiosyncrasy,  even  when  crudely  developed. 
"I  never,"  said  he,  "will  be  a  revengeful  enemy; 
but  I  cannot,  it  is  not  in  my  nature,  to  be  half  a 
friend.''  He  could  have  married,  it  is  said,  the  lady 
to   whom   are   addressed   the   best  of  his   amatory 


SHENSTONE.  47 

effusions;  but  something  of  the  same  mystery  in- 
volves his  celibacy,  as  is  the  case  with  the  bard  of 
the  Seasons. 

"  Agriculture/'  says  Keats,  in  one  of  his  letters 
recently  published,  ^' is  the  tamer  of  men, — the  steam 
from  the  earth  is  like  drinking  their  mother's  milk — 
it  enervates  their  natures.  This  appears  a  great 
cause  of  the  imbecility  of  the  Chinese ;  and  if  this 
sort  of  atmosphere  is  a  mitigation  to  the  energies  of 
a  strong  man,  how  much  more  must  it  injure  a  weak 
one,  unoccupied,  unexercised  V  It  seems  as  if  rural 
pleasures  should  be  occasional  to  be  salutary.  If 
Shenstone's  life  had  been  exposed  to  the  intellectual 
and  moral  incitements  of  a  metropolitan  career,  he 
would  have  retired  to  Leasowes  with  enlarged  ideas 
and  wider  sympathies,  and  perhaps  have  risen  from 
the  details  of  a  virtuoso  to  the  general  effects  achieved 
by  the  thinker. 

Some  of  his  essays  are  pleasing,  but  devoted  to 
quiet  moralising  or  some  insignificant  theme.  His 
letters  scarcely  touch  upon  anything  but  his  WTitings 
and  his  place.  Around  these  his  thoughts  and  sym- 
pathies constantly  revolved  with  an  egotism  which 
gives  one  a  melancholy  impression  of  the  narrow 
resources  and  unmanly  tone  to  which  fanciful  solitude 
may  reduce  an  educated  mind.  He  continued  his 
name  ten  years  at  Oxford  for  the  mere  pleasure  of 
learning,  took  no  degree,  and  put  on  the  civilian's 
gown  without  intending  to  engage  in  a  profession. 
He  then  gave  a  brief  period  to  acquainting  himself 


48  THE  DILETTANTE. 

with  life  by  visits  to  the  principal  watering-places. 
Thus  provided  with  a  modicum  of  learning  and  ex- 
perience, he  returned  to  his  birthplace,  and  simulta- 
neously practised  verse-writing  and  landscape  gar- 
dening ;  but  the  want  of  enlarged  curiosity,  exalted 
aims,  and  broad  views,  caused  his  tenderness  and 
benevolence  to  evaporate  in  sentimental  hospitality, 
and  his  invention  to  expend  itself  on  inadequate 
materials. 

"I  have,"  says  one  of  his  letters,  "  an  alcove,  six 
elegies,  a  seat,  two  epitaphs,  (one  upon  myself,)  four 
songs,  and  a  serpentine  river,  to  show  you  when  you 
come."  This  passage  gives  us  an  insight,  at  once, 
into  the  chief  occupations  of  Shenstone.  His  "  Essay 
on  Men  and  Manners"  contains  many  sensible  ob- 
servations agreeably  expressed ;  but,  like  his  poetry, 
seldom  rising  above  a^  tranquil  gracefulness  of  diction 
or  pleasantry  of  thought.  He  belongs,  however,  to 
the  correct  and  icefined  school  of  essayists,  of  which 
Addison  is  the  main  exemplar.  We  quote  a  few 
sentences,  at  random,  as  specimens  of  the  manner 
and  ideas  of  a  genuine  dilettante : 

"  When  fame  is  the  principal  object  of  our  devo- 
tion, it  should  be  considered  whether  our  character 
is  like  to  gain  in  point  of  wit,  what  it  will  probably 
lose  in  point  of  modesty ;  otherwise  we  shall  be  cen- 
sured of  vanity  more  than  famed  for  genius;  and 
depress  our  character  while  we  strive  to  raise  it." 

"  The  impromptu  appears  to  me  to  have  the  nature 
of  that  kind  of  salad,  which  certain  eminent  adepts 


SHENSTONE.  49 

in  chemistry  have  contrived  to  raise  while  a  joint  of 
mutton  is  roasting.  We  do  not  allow  ourselves  to 
blame  its  unusual  flatness  and  insipidity,  but  extol 
the  little  flavour  it  has,  considering  the  time  of  its 
vegetation." 

"  There  would  not  be  any  absolute  necessity  for 
reserve,  if  the  world  were  honest ;  yet,  even  then  it 
would  prove  expedient.  For  in  order  to  attain  any 
degree  of  deference,  it  seems  necessary  that  people 
should  imagine  you  have  more  accomplishments  than 
you  discover.-  It  is  on  this  depends  one  of  the  excel- 
lencies of  the  judicious  Virgil.  He  leaves  you  some- 
thing ever  to  imagine :  and  such  is  the  constitution 
of  the  human  mind,  that  we  think  so  highly  of 
nothing,  as  that  whereof  we  do  not  see  the  bounds." 

"  The  delicacy  of  his  taste  increased  his  sensibility, 
and  his  sensibility  made  him  more  a  slave.  The  mind 
of  man,  like  the  finer  parts  of  matter,  the  more 
delicate  it  is,  naturally  admits  the  more  deep  and.  the 
more  visible  impressions." 

"  Whence  is  it,  my  friend,  that  I  feel  it  impossible 
to  envy  you,  although,  hereafter,  your  qualifications 
may  make  whole  millions  do  so  ?  for,  believe  me  when 
I  aflSirm,  that  I  deem  it  much  more  superfluous  to  wish 
you  honours  to  gratify  your  ambition,  than  to  wish 
you  ambition  enough  to  make  your  honours  satis- 
factory." 

"  All  trees  have  a  character  analogous  to  all  men : 
oaks  are  in  all  respects  the  perfect  image  of  the 
manly  character.     In  former  times  I  should  have 

5 


50      ,  THE  DILETTANTE. 

said,  and  in  present  times  I  think  I  am  authorized  to 
say,  the  British  one.  As  a  brave  man  is  not  suddenly 
either  elated  by  prosperity  or  depressed  by  adversity, 
so  the  oak  displays  not  its  verdure  on  the  sun's  first 
approach,  nor  drops  it  on  his  first  departure.  .  Add 
to  this  its  majestic  appearance,  the  rough  grandeur 
of  its  bark  and  the  wide  protection  of  its  branches." 

"  Indolence  is  a  kind  of  centripetal  force." 

^' I  hate  maritime  expressions,  similes,  and  allu- 
sions ;  my  dislike,  I  suppose,  proceeds  from  the 
unnaturalness  of  shipping,  and  the  great  share  which 
art  ever  claims  in  that  practice." 

"  I  am  thankful  that  my  name  is  obnoxious  to  no 
pun." 

"  It  is  a  miserable  thing  to  love  where  one  hates ; 
and  yet  it  is  not  inconsistent." 

"  I  cannot  avoid  comparing  the  ease  and  freedom 
I  enjoy  to  the  ease  of  an  old  shoe ;  where  a  certain 
degree  of  shabbiness  is  joined  with  the  convenience." 

"Two  words,  'no  more,'  have  a  singular  pathos; 
reminding  us  at  once  of  past  pleasure  and  the  future 
exclusion  of  it." 

"  The  superior  politeness  of  the  French  is  in  no- 
thing more  discernible  than  in  the  phrases  used  by 
them  and  us  to  express  an  afiair  being  in  agitation. 
The  former  says  ' sur  la  tapis ;'  the  latter  'upon  the 
anvil.'  Does  it  not  show  also  the  sincerity  and  serious 
face  with  which  we  enter  upon  business,  and  the 
negligent  and  jaunty  air  with  which  they  perform 
even  the  most  important?" 


SHENSTONE.  51: 

"  There  are  many  persons  acquire  to  the>nselves  a 
character  of  insincerity,  from  what  is  in  ttuth  mere 
inconstancy.  And  there  are  persons  of  warm  but 
changeable  passions,  perhaps  the  sincerest  of  any  in 
the  very  instant  they  make  profession,  but  the  very 
least  to  be  depended  on  through  the  short  duration 
of  all  extremes/' 

"Extreme  volatile  and  sprightly  tempers  seem 
inconsistent  with  any  great  enjoyment.  There  is  too 
much  time  wasted  in  mere  transition  from  one  ob- 
ject to  another ;  no  room  for  those  deep  impressions 
which  are  made  alone  by  the  duration  of  an  idea ;  and 
are  quite  requisite  to  any  strong  sensation,  either  of 
pleasure  or  of  pain.  The  bee  to  collect  honey,  or  the 
spider  to  gather  poison,  must  abide  some  time  upon 
the  weed  or  flower.  They  whose  fluids  are  mere  sal 
volatile,  seem  rather  cheerful  than  happy  men.  The 
temper  above  described,  is  oftener  the  lot  of  wits, 
than  of  persons  of  great  abilities.'' 

Compare  these  extracts  with  the  colloquial  wit  of 
Sydney  Smith's  articles,  the  heavy  artillery  of  Carlyle, 
or  the  rapier-like  dexterity  of  Macaulay.  Habituated 
to  the  vigorous  spirit  and  rich  thought  of  later  essay- 
ists and  poets,  we  can  say  of  such  writings  as  these, 
as  Selkirk  said  of  the  beasts  in  his  lonely  isle, 

"  Their  tameness  is  shocking  to  me." 

One  of  the  most  felicitous  instances  of  Shenstone's 
prose  is  a  brief  sketch  entitled  "A  Character,"  and 
said  to  be  a  portrait  of  himself.     It  was  written  with 


52  THE  DILETTANTE. 

! 

a  |)encil,  j:on  the  wall  of  his  room  at  Oxford,  in  1735. 
Perhaps  Me  cannot  better  illustrate  our  view  of  this 
amiable,  tasteful  and  egotistic  devotee  of  rural  and 
rhythmical  enjoyment,  than  by  quoting  it : 

"  He  was  a  youth  so  amply  furnished  with  every 
excellence  of  mind,  that  he  seemed  alike  capable  of 
acquiring  or  disregarding  the  goods  of  fortune.  He 
had  indeed  all  the  learning  and  erudition  that  can  be 
derived  from  universities  without  the  pedantry  and 
ill  manners  which  are  too  often  their  attendants. 
What  few  or  none  acquire  by  the  most  intense 
assiduity,  he  possessed  by  nature ;  I  mean  that  ele- 
gance of  taste,  which  disposed  him  to  admire  beauty 
under  its  great  variety  of  appearances.  It  passed 
not  unobserved  by  him  either  in  the  cut  of  a  sleeve, 
or  the  integrity  of  a  moral  action.  The  proportion 
of  a  statue,  the  convenience  of  an  edifice,  the  move- 
ment in  a  dance,  and  the  complexion  of  a  cheek  or 
flower,  afforded  him  sensations  of  beauty ;  that  beauty 
which  inferior  geniuses  are  taught  coldly  to  distin- 
guish, or  to  discern  rather  than  feel.  He  could  trace 
the  excellencies  both  of  the  courtier  and  the  student; 
who  are  mutually  ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of  each  other. 
He  had  nothing  in  his  character  which  could  obscure 
so  great  accomplishments,  beside  the  want,  the  total 
want,  of  a  desire  to  exhibit  them.  Through  this  it 
came  to  pass,  that  what  would  have  raised  another  to 
the  heights  of  reputation,  was  oftentimes  in  him 
passed  over  unregarded.  For,  in  respect  to  ordinary 
observers,  it  is  requisite  to  lay  some  stress  yourself, 


SHENSTONE.  53 

on  what  you  intend  should  be  remarked  by  others ; 
and  this  never  was  his  way.  His  knowledge  of  books 
had  in  some  degree  diminished  his  knowledge  of  the 
world ;  or  rather  the  external  forms  and  manners  of 
it.  His  ordinary  conversation  was,  perhaps,  laden 
rather  too  frequently  with  sentiment,  the  usual  fault 
of  rigid  students ;  and  this  he  would  in  some  degree 
have  regulated  better,  did  not  the  universality  of  his 
genius,  together  with  the  method  of  his  education,  so 
largely  contribute  to  this  amiable  defect.  This  kind 
of  awkwardness,  (since  his  modesty  will  allow  it  no 
better  name,)  may  be  compared  to  the  stiffness  of  a 
fine  piece  of  brocade,  whose  turgescency  indeed  con- 
stitutes and  is  inseparable  from  its  value. 
•  "He  gave  delight  by  a  happy  boldness  in  the  ex- 
tirpation of  common  prejudices ;  which  he  could  as 
readily  penetrate,  as  he  could  humorously  ridicule. 
And  he  had  such  entire  possession  of  the  hearts  as 
well  as  the  understandings  of  his  friends,  that  he 
could  soon  make  the  most  surprising  paradoxes  be- 
lieved and  well  accepted.  His  image,  like  that  of  a 
sovereign,  could  give  an  additional  value  to  the  most 
precious  one ;  and  we  no  sooner  believed  our  eyes 
that  it  was  he  who  spake  it,  than  we  as  readily  be- 
lieved whatever  he  had  to  say.     In  this  he  differed 

from  W r,  that  he  had  the  talent  of  rendering 

the  greatest  virtues  unenvied:  whereas  the  latter 
shone  more  remarkably  in  making  his  very  faults 
agreeable ;  I  mean  in  regard  to  those  few  he  had  to 

exercise  his  skill." 

5# 


54  THE  DILETTANTE. 

When  the  creative  power  is  deficient,  minds  of 
ideal  tendency  seek  gratification  by  means  of  taste. 
What  they  cannot  realize  through  inward  efibrt,  they 
attempt  to  image  in  outward  forms.  The  sense  of 
beauty  and  aspiration,  uncotnbined  with  moral  vigour 
or  great  intellectual  gifts,  is  thus  developed  externally 
and,  as  it  were,  through  a  kind  of  compromise  be- 
tween ability  and  desire.  This  appears  to  be  the 
philosophy  of  dilettantiism.  The  active  imagination 
repudiates  outward  embellishment;  the  comprehen- 
sive mind  disdains  graceful  artifice,  and  the  large  and 
earnest  heart  cannot  pause  to  dally  with  inane  senti- 
mentalities. It  is  on  this  account  that  when  taste  is 
a  prevailing  trait,  it  implies  the  absence  of  great 
qualities,  exactly  as  the  epithet  amiable,  when  exclu- 
sive, suggests  the  idea  of  a  common-place  character. 
Both  are  secondary  qualities,  desirable  as  adjuncts  to 
higher  capacities,  as  modifications  of  richer  gifts, 
rather  than  as  essential.  They  are  only  negative 
excellencies. 

In  the  history  of  literature  we  find  that  extreme 
taste  is  the  characteristic  of  decline.  It  was  grossly 
violated  by  the  old  English  dramatists,  and  morbidly 
esteemed  by  the  writers  of  the  Restoration.  It  is 
related  chiefly  to  details  and  hence,  to  a  certain 
extent,  is  unfavourable  to  broad,  deep,  and  energetic 
developments.  The  verbal  controversies  of  the  Italian 
academies  aptly  indicated  the  degeneracy  of  the 
national  life  compared  with  the  robust  yet  unrefined 
age  of  the  "grim  Tuscan;"  and  it  is  in  times  when 


SHENSTONE.  55 

society  is  uninspired  by  an  exalted  sentiment  and  the 
tone  of  life  is  material,  that  men  of  the  virtuoso 
class  prevail.  In  more  serious  and  enthusiastic  eras, 
they  seem  out  of  place.  Leisure  and  freedom  from 
lofty  ambition,  are  necessary  to  their  enjoyment. 
They  live  in  a  world  of  their  own,  but  its  sphere  is 
insignificant.  By  surrounding  themselves  with  quaint, 
beautiful,  and  curious  memorials,  they  nurture  the 
feelings  which  men  of  deeper  natures  can  only  ac- 
tualize by  deeds;  and  seek  to  reflect  instead  of 
embodying  their  finest  instincts. 

To  the  noblest  order  of  minds,  however,  the  em- 
blems of  beauty  and  truth  aggravate  instead  of 
soothing.  The  most  skilful  combinations  of  music 
awaken  longings  for  the  unattained ;  every  tint  of 
perfection  given  by  art  or  nature,  stirs  the  wings  of 
the  soul  by  kindling  desires  for  the  unity  of  being, 
the  harmony  of  spirit,  of  which  they  are  visible  types. 
Yet  the  amateur  has  his  place  in  the  social  economy. 
The  mass  of  people  need  to  be  refined,  to  acquire 
more  delicate  standards  of  judgment  and  to  educate 
the  perceptions.  To  this  result  the  influence  of  these 
ministers  of  taste  .efiectually  contributes.  Thus  the 
airy,  epistolary  gossip  of  Walpole  and  his  domestic 
museum  at  Strawberry  Hill, — the  artistic  comments 
and  rare  trophies  of  Beckford,  and  the  literary  break- 
fasts and  pleasing  mementoes  of  Rogers,  are  asso- 
ciated with  this  agreeable  kind  of  social  utility. 


t  mnnlul. 


CHANNING.* 

Half  a  century  ago,  there  might  have  been  seen 
threading  the  streets  of  Richmond,  a  diminutive 
figure,  with  a  pale,  attenuated  face,  eyes  of  spiritual 
brightness,  an  expansive  and  calm  brow,  and  move- 
ments of  nervous  alacrity.  An  abstraction  of  manner 
and  intentness  of  expression  denoted  the  scholar, 
while  the  scrupulously  neat,  yet  worn  attire,  aB 
clearly  evidenced  restricted  means  and  habits  of  self- 
denial.  The  youth  was  one  of  those  children  of  New 
England  braced  by  her  discipline,  and  early  sent 
forth  to  earn  a  position  in  the  world,  by  force  of 
character  and  activity  of  intellect.  He  was  baptized 
into  the  fraternity  of  Nature  by  the  grandeur  and 
beauty  of  the  sea  as  it  breaks  along  the  craggy  shore 
of  Rhode  Island ;  the  domestic  influences  of  a  Pu- 
ritan household  had  initiated  him  into  the  moral 
convictions ;  and  the  teachings  of  Harvard  yielded 
him  the  requisite  attainments  to  discharge  the  office 
of  private  tutor  in  a  wealthy  Virginian  family.    Then 

*  Memoir  of  William  Ellery  Channing,  with  extracts  from  his 
correspondence  and  manuscripts.  In  three  volumes.  Boston :  Wil- 
liam Crosby  and  H.  P.  Nichols.    London :  John  Chapman.     1848. 


CHANNING.  57 

and  there,  far  from  the  companions  of  his  studies  and 
the  home  of  his  childhood,  through  secret  conflicts, 
devoted  application  to  books,  and  meditation,  amid 
privations,  comparative  isolation,  and  premature  re- 
sponsibility, he  resolved  to  consecrate  himself  to  the 
Christian  ministry.  Illness  had  subdued  his  elasticity, 
care  shadowed  his  dreams,  and  retirement  solemnized 
his  desires.  Thence  he  went  to  Boston,  and  for 
more  than  forty  years  pursued  the  consistent  tenor 
of  his  way  as  an  eloquent  divine  and  powerful  writer, 
achieving  a  wide  renown,  bequeathing  a  venerated 
memory,  and  a  series  of  discourses,  reviews  and  es- 
says, which,  with  remarkable  perspicuity  and  earnest- 
ness, vindicate  the  cause  of  freedom,  the  original 
endowments  and  eternal  destiny  of  human  nature, 
the  sanctions  of  religion  and  "the  ways  of  God  to 
man."  Sectarian  controversy,  the  duties  of  the  pas- 
toral, office,  journeys  abroad  and  at  home,  intercourse 
with  superior  minds  and  the  seclusion  made  necessary 
by  disease, — the  quiet  of  home,  the  refining  influence 
of  literary  taste  and  the  vocations  of  citizen,  father 
and  philanthropist,  occupied  those  intervening  years. 
He  died,  one  beautiful  October  evening,  at  Benning- 
ton, Vermont,  while  on  a  summer  excursion,  and  was 
buried  at  Mount  Auburn.  A  monument  commemo- 
rates the  gratitude  of  his  parishioners  and  the  exalted 
estimation  he  had  acquired  in  the  world.  A  bio- 
graphy prepared  by  his  nephew,  recounts  the  few 
incidents  of  his  career,  and  gracefully  unfolds  the 
process  of  his  growth  and  mental  history. 


68  THE  MORALIST. 

^  It  is  seldom  that  ethical  writings  interest  the 
multitude.  The  abstract  nature  of  the  topics  they 
I  si^  \  ^^^^^^^?  ^^^  *^^  formal  style  in  which  they  are 
\^^/|  usually  embodied,  are  equally  destitute  of  that  popu- 
lar chg^rm  that  wins  the  common  heart.  A  remarkable 
L  exception  is  presented  in  the  literary  remains  of 
Channing.  The  simple  yet  comprehensive  ideas  upon 
which  he  dwells,  the  tranquil  gravity  of  his  utterance, 
and  the  winning  clearness  of  his  style,  render  many 
of  his  productions  universally  attractive  as  examples 
of  quiet  and  persuasive  eloquence.  And  this  result 
is  entirely  independent  of  any  sympathy  with  his 
theological  opinions,  or  experience  of  his  pulpit  ora- 
tory. Indeed,  the  genuine  interest  of  Dr.  Channing's 
writings  is  ethical.  As  the  champion  of  a  sect,  his 
labours  have  but  a  temporary  value ;  as  the  exponent 
of  a  doctrinal  system,  he  will  not  long  be  remembered 
with  gratitude,  because  ithe  world  is  daily  better 
appreciating  the  religious  sentiment  as  of  infinitely 
more  value  than  any  dogma ;  but  as  a  moral  essayist, 
some  of  the  more  finished  writings  of  Channing  will 
have  a  permanent  hold  upon  reflective  and  tasteful 
minds.  His  nephew  has  compiled  his  biography  with 
singular  judgment.  He  has  followed  the  method  of 
Lockhart  in  the  Life  of  Scott.  As  far  as  possible,  the 
narrative  is  woven  from  letters  and  diaries, — -the 
subject  speaks  for  himself,  and  only  such  interme- 
diate observations  of  the  editor  are  given  as  are 
necessary  to  form  a  connected  whole.  Uneventful 
as  these  memoirs  are,  they  are  interesting  as  reve- 


CHANNING.  69 

lations  of  the  process  of  culture,  the  means  and 
purposes  of  one  whose  words  have  winged  their  way, 
bearing  emphatic  messages,  over  both  hemispheres, 
— who,  for  many  years,  successfully  advocated  im- 
portant truths  ;  and  whose  memory  is  one  of  the  most 
honoured  of  New  England's  gifted  divines. 

To  Dr.  Channing's  style  is,  in  a  great  degree, 
ascribable  the  popularity  of  his  writings  ;  and  we  are 
struck  with  its  remarkable  identity  from  the  earliest 
to  the  latest  period  of  his  career.  A  petition  to 
Congress,  penned  while  a  student  at  the  University, 
which  appears  in  these  volumes,  has  all  its  promi- 
nent characteristics — its  brief  sentences,  occasionally 
lengthened  where  the  idea  requires  it — its  emphasis, 
its  simplicity,  directness,  and  transparent  diction. 
This  is  a  curious  evidence  of  the  purely  meditative 
existence  he  must  have  passed ;  for  it  is  by  attrition 
with  other  minds  and  subjection  to  varied  influences, 
that  the  style  of  writing  as  well  as  the  tone  of  man- 
ners undergoes  those  striking  modifications  which  we 
perceive  in  men  less  intent  upon  a  few  thoughts. 
His  character  is,  therefore,  justly  described  as  more 
indebted  to  "the  influences  of  solitary  thought  than 
of  companionship."  Such  is  the  process  by  which 
all  truth  becomes  clearly  impressed  and  richly  de- 
veloped to  consciousness ;  on  the  same  principle  that, 
according  to  Mary  ^oUstonecraft,  reflection  is  ne- 
cessary to  the  realization  even  of  a  great  passion. 
"I  derive  my  sentiments  from  the  nature  of  man," 
says  one  of  Channing's  letters.     Perhaps  it  would 


60  THE  MORALIST. 

have  been  more  strictly  true  if  he  had  said  one  man ; 
for  an  inference  we  long  ago  derived  from  his 
writings,  we  find  amply  confirmed  in  these  memoirs 
— that  he  was  a  very  inadequate  observer.  Some  of 
his  attempts  to  portray  character  are  as  complete 
fancy  sketches  as  we  ever  perused.  They  show  an 
utter  blindness  to  the  real  traits  even  of  familiar 
persons.  Beautiful  in  themselves,  it  is  usually  from 
the  graceful  drapery  of  his  imagination  that  the 
charm  is  derived.  Indeed,  Dr.  Channing  hardly 
came  near  enough  to  see  the  features  in  their  literal 
significance.  He  drew  almost  exclusively  from  with- 
in. His  subjects  were  what  the  lay-figure  is  to  the 
artist— frames  for  his  thoughts  to  deck  with  efibctive 
costume.  When  he  reasoned  of  a  truth  or  an  idea, 
he  was  more  at  home ;  for  in  the  abstract  he  was  at 
liberty  to  expatiate,  without  keeping  in  view  the  ac- 
tual relations  of  things — the  stern  facts  and  bare 
realities  of  life  and  character.  Indeed,  nothing  can 
be  more  delightful  to  a  refined  and  thoughtful  mind, 
than  to  follow  Channing  in  his  exposition  of  a  striking 
idea  or  truth — so  clearly  and  dispassionately  stated, 
then  gradually  unfolded  to  its  ultimate  significance, 
with,  here  and  there,  a  striking  illustration ;  and  then 
wound  up,  like  a  fine  strain  of  music,  which  seems  to 
raise  us  more  and  more  into  light  and  tranquillity  on 
invisible  pinions  ! 

Physical  causes  had  no  inconsiderable  efiect  in 
modifying  the  action  and  shaping  the  career  of  Dr. 
Channing.      His   early  letters   exhibit   a   phase   of 


CHANNING,  61 

character,  which  almost  totally  disappears  as  he  ad- 
vanced in  life.  A  romantic  hue,  a  spirit  of  good- 
fellowship,  natural  and  beautiful  in  youth,  and  a 
sympathy  with  national  and  political  movements, 
indicate  that  his  original  tendencies  would  have  led 
to  statesmanship,  literature,  or  a  still  more  active 
vocation.  The  solitude  in  which  he  lived  at  the 
South,  as  a  tutor  in  a  private  family,  his  early  re- 
sponsibility consequent  on  the  death  of  his  father, 
his  narrow  pecuniary  resources  and  an  illness  which 
forever  shattered  his  originally  vigorous  constitution, 
— all  combined  to  thrust  him,  as  it  were,  back  upon 
himself;  to  bring  him  in  contact  with  stern  and  opi- 
pressive  realities  at  an  early  age,  and  render  pecu-  - 
liarly  vivid  the  consciousness  of  wants,  capacities, 
and  infirmities  which  only  slowly  and,  as  it  were,  in- 
cidentally, are  revealed  to  less  sensitive  and  thought- 
ful minds.  Henc6  religion,  both  from  his  instinct 
and  his  circumstances,  became  early  a  necessity ;  and 
truth  the  only  sustaining  aliment  of  his  lonely  and 
aspiring  heart.  We  are  not  surprised  that  a  man  so 
constituted  should  find  his  experience  opposed  to 
the  fallacious  notion  that  youth  is  necessarily  the 
happiest  season  of  life.  Lord  Bacon  says,  that 
natures  liable  to  great  perturbations,  only  attain  the 
self-command  and  aptitude  requisite  for  action,  at 
maturity.  To  such,  existence  is  too  oppressive,  at 
first,  to  be  pleasurable.  There  must  intervene  an 
epoch  of  struggle  and  conflict.  The  sensibilities 
cloud  perception;    doubt   obscures  truth;    emotion 

6 


62  THE  MORALIST. 

prohibits  calmness.  Through  repeated  experiments, 
long  reflection,  vague  excitement,  and  alternations  of 
fear  and  hope,  the  spirit  gradually  wins  its  advent 
into  clearness  and  trust.  Harmony  is  induced  after 
repeated  discords.  A  genuine  relation  to  life  and 
nature  is,  by  degrees  only,  made  apparent,  and  con- 
fidently seized  upon.  Chaos  must  come  again,  as  it 
came  to  the  baffled  warrior,  ere  peace  succeeds  dis- 
appointment, and  faith  perplexity.  In  these  memoirs, 
this  transition  is  distinctly  marked,  and  was  gratefully 
realized. 

To  chasten  and  subdue  feeling  was,  in  his  view,  no 
small  part  of  a  wise  morality.  Among  the  chief 
attractions  of  a  future  state  to  him,  was  the  recon- 
ciliation which  he  believed  would  there  occur  between 
the  reason  and  the  heart.  It  was  this  attempt  to 
suppress  emotion  which  gave  to  his  elocution  its 
persuasive  charm.  The  depth  of  the  under-current 
was  revealed  by  a  prolonged  intonation,  almost  tre- 
mulous yet  singularly  firm- — suggesting  a  power  re- 
strained, a  sensibility  overawed  by  reverence — than 
which  no  phase  of  oratory  is  more  truly  affecting. 
And  yet  the  man  who  could  so  impress  an  audience, 
seldom  called  out,  in  personal  intercourse,  any  of  the 
latent  sentiment  of  others.  He  inspired  respect 
more  than  he  won  confidence.  His  thoughts  in- 
terested his  friends  more  than  himself.  His  name 
was  an  exponent  of  certain  principles  associated  with 
human  progress  and  moral  truth,  rather  than  an 
endearing  household  spell.     In  conversation  he  ap- 


CHANNING.  63 

peared  mainly  intent  upon  gleaning  from  his  auditors 
new  facts  to  aid  his  own  speculations.  If  they  had 
seen  a  new  country,  undergone  a  peculiar  experience, 
or  reflected  deeply  on  general  truth,  he  sought,  by 
rigid  inquiry,  to  elicit  the  result.  Thus  as  a  moralist, 
he  pursued  the  same  course  as  Goethe  in  his  literary  / 
vocation — seeking  to  make  his  fellow-creatures  ob- 
jective, recoiling  from  assimilation,  and  repelling  all 
sympathetic  approach,  in  order  to  render  them  sub- 
servient to  a  professional  end.  It  is  hardly  extrava- 
gant to  say  that  men  of  this  stamp, — that  is,  with 
great  self-esteem  and  at  the  same  time  metaphysical, 
artistic,  or  philanthropic  tastes,  regard  human  nature 
very  much  as  geologists  regard  the  earth — as  a  won- 
derful cabinet  on  a  grand  scale,  whence  to  draw  gems 
of  truth,  or  specimens  of  character,  for  the  advantage 
of  science. 

Notwithstanding  the  apparent  enthusiasm  in  regard 
to  military  prowess,  it  is  evident  that  moral  courage 
is  better  understood  as  civilization  advances.  The 
conviction  has  dawned  even  upon  the  common  mind, 
["that  tranquilly  and  with  firmness,  to  withstand  public  \  w  [gfi 
opinion,  in  a  righteous  cause,  and  be  loyal  to  personal  -' 
convictions,  demands  a  manliness  of  character  as  rare 
as  it  is  noble.  No  small  part  of  the  energy  which 
lends  impressiveness  to  Dr.  Channing's  writings, 
arises  from  the  exercise  of  this  valorous  dispositio^. 
To  those  who  witnessed  the  scene,  for  instance,  when 
his  election  sermon  was  delivered  in  Boston,  there 
remains  a  deep  sense  of  the  power  of  truthful  oratory. 


64  -     THE  MORALIST. 

In  this  discourse,  he  elaborately  defined  his  idea  of 
freedom.  Every  sentence  commencing,  "  I  call  that 
mind  free,"  told  upon  the  audience.  As  he  described 
the  narrowing  efiect  of  bigotry,  some  of  the  promi- 
nent representatives  of  a  tyrannical  priestcraft,  ac- 
tually writhed  in  their  seats ;  and  those  who  sympa- 
thized in  the  largeness  and  elevation  of  his  doctrine, 
exhibited  in  their  enkindled  faces,  the  best  response 
to  his  earnest  plea  for  the  spontaneous  and*  untram- 
melled action  of  individual  thought. 

We  demur  somewhat  to  one  of  Dr.  Channing's 
favourite  opinions — the  equality  of  human  nature. 
In  his  zeal  for  the  dignity  of  man,  he  overlooks  not 
a  few  of  the  indisputable  facts  of  nature ;  and  indeed 
often  manifests  an  unphilosophical  dislike  to  recog- 
nise what  is  opposed  to  his  own  views,  however  true. 
Thus,  in  a  letter  to  Combe,  acknowledging  a  copy  of 
his  work  on  Man,  he  says — "  The  phrenological  part 
I  fear  did  me  little  good.  I  have  a  strong  aversion 
to  theories  which  subject  the  mind  to  the  body." 
Such  is  by  no  means  the  case  with  phrenology  justly 
interpreted; — it  being  rather  the  science  of  connexion 
between  material  and  spiritual  attributes — indicating 
their  mutual  relation;  but,  were  it  otherwise,  the 
question  for  a  great  thinker  to  decide,  is  as  to  its 
truth;  he  must  reverently  explore,  not  presuppose, 
the  laws  of  nature.  In  regard  to  human  equality, 
more  impartial  observation  would  have  led  Dr.  Chan- 
ning  to  realize  permanent  natural  distinctions  in  his 
fellow-creatures.     There  is,  unquestionably,  a  nobility 


CHANNING. 


65 


based  upon  this  diversity — an  aristocracy  which  no 
institutions  can  repudiate — it  being  a  great  natural 
fact.  That  the  capacity  of  progress  exists  almost 
universally,  we  are  not  disposed  to  contradict ;  but 
history  and  experienee  are  continually  demonstrating 
the  superiority  of  innate  over  acquired  influences. 
Character  has  been  most  aptly  defined  as  an  instinct. 
Many  of  Dr.  Channing's  views  were  derived  purely  |  ^ 
from  his  own  individual  sense  of  a  truth ;  very  few 
of  them  from  a  wide  and  inductive  observation.  He 
was  a  man  of  the  closet,  a  looker-on  in  the  world, — 
thoughtful,  conscientious  and  deeply  interested  in 
many  of  the  grand  problems  to  be  solved, — yet  too 
far  removed  from  the  scene  to  estimate  all  its  agen- 
cies, or  perceive  its  entire  consequences.  Thus,  in 
his  essay  on  Napoleon,  he  weighs  him  in  the  balance 
of  disinterested  virtue,  and  finds  the  modern  con- 
queror infinitely  wanting;  but  of  the  relation  in 
which  his  achievements  stand  to  the  past  and  future, 
in  a  grand  providential  scheme  of  social  regenera- 
tion, he  seems  never  to  have  dreamed. 

The  influence  exerted  and  the  reputation  acquired 
by  Dr.  Channing,  is  a  striking  instance  of  the  triumph 
of  consistency.  The  absence  of  versatility  in  his 
nature  is  remarkable.  We  scarcely  know  a  parallel 
case  in  regard  to  any  writer  so  generally  recognised 
as  eloquent.  The  traces  of  personal  experience,  ob- 
servation of  nature,  or  of  intimacy  with  books,  are 
comparatively  rare.  Everywhere  we  discern  the 
evidences  of  a  life  apart  from  human  interests  as 

6* 


B6  THE  MORALIST. 

they  usually  affect  the  individual.  He  reason^  like 
one  who  h^^  no  personal  stake  in  the  issue  of  the 
question.  A  tone  of  superiority,  a  conscious  exemp- 
tion from  the  .ruling  passion  of  the  hour,  make  him 
often  appear  like  a  judicious  and  benevolent  arbitrator 
between  humanity  and  the  world,  rather  than  a  par- 
ticipant in  the  struggles,  griefs,  and  pleasures  of  life. 
This  partly  arises  from  the  singleness  of  purpose 
and  unity  of  thought  to  which  we  have  alluded. 
He  harps  always  on  one  string.  His  mind  revolves 
around  a  few  great  truths.  He  is  like  one  who 
looks  upon  a  wide  landscape  through  the  single  loop- 
hole of  an  isolated  and  majestic  tower.  The  music 
of  his  soul  is  often  grand,  but  it  is,  after  all,  a  mono- 
tone. His  favourite  theme  was  the  essential  dignity 
of  human  nature,  its  capacity  of  progress  and  im- 
mortal destiny.  Upon  these  convictions  he  founded 
his  moral  system;  and  his  various  essays  and  ad- 
dresses are  only  varied  illustrations  of  their  claims. 
The  process  of  his  mental  development  seems  to  have 
been  little  more  than  frequent  and  continuous  re- 
flection upon  these  ideas ;  and  the  power  over  other 
minds'  which  he  thus  attained,  is  a  proof  of  the 
superior  value  of  concentration  over  the  diffusive 
culture  of  the  age.  Dr.  Channing  appears  to  have 
shrunk  from  great  familiarity  with  other  minds  even 
through  their  writings.  We  perceive  no  evidence  of 
that  cordial  sympathy  with  authors,  which  breaks  out 
so  genially  in  the  correspondence  of  other  gifted  men. 
His  criticism  on  Milton  is  rather  an  intellectual  re- 


CHANNING.  67 

cognition  of  his  genius  than  an  affectionate  tribute. 
In  fact,  in  his  studies  as  in  his  life,  the  predominant 
aim  seems  to  have  been  self-possession.  As  he  was 
accustomed  to  envelope  his  delicate  frame  with  the 
utmost  care,  to  guard  against  the  bleak  atmosphere, 
so  he  strove  to  throw  a  mantle  of  reserve  around  his 
spirit; — shunning  the  gregarious,  intimate,  and  fa- 
miliar, and  seeking  to  draw  from  others  aliment  to 
his  own  mind,  rather  than  buffet  with  them  the  waves 
of  controversy,  or  mingle  with  them  the  glow  of  emo- 
tion or  the  stream  of  thought. 

"This  unsocial  disposition  is  likewise,  in  no  small 
degree,  referable  to  the  reaction  of  an  impressible 
organization.  His  biographer  judiciously  defends  it 
by  declaring  that  Dr.  Channing  was  "  keenly  sensi- 
tive to  the  morbid  feelings  by  which  untuned  spirits 
communicate  their  discord  even  to  one  who  has  at- 
tained serenity."  It  is  said  of  Bonapaxte  that  he 
could,  by  an  effort  of  will,  discharge  his  face  of  all 
expression ;  and  there  are  persons  who,  in  a  similar 
manner,  can  ward  off  the  ungenial,  while  in  contact 
with  it,  by  inducing  an  abstracted  or  antagonistic 
mood.  Channing  seems  to  have  been  so  alive  to 
physical  and  moral  influences,  that  his  comfort  was 
only  secured  by  an  icy  barrier  which  chilled  in- 
truders. It  is  singular,  however,  to  observe,  that 
while  he  felt  it  to  be  his  sacred,  individual  right  thus 
to  keep  others  shivering  in  the  vestibule  of  his  soul's 
temple,  towards  the  race  in  general,  the  community 
at  large,  the  broad  interests  of  society,  he  appears  to 


68  THE  MORALIST. 

have  been  always  conscious  of  a  very  near  and  re- 
sponsible affinity.  He  writes  of  the  elevation  of  the 
labouring  classes,  the  destinies  of  Europe  and  the 
political  aspects  of  his  own  country,  as  if  they  were 
somewhat  assigned  to  his  keeping.  He  seems  always 
to  feel,  in  regard  to  "human  nature,"  as  Hazlitt 
declares  Wordsworth  does  towards  the  outward  uni- 
verse, a  personal  interest.  Sometimes  it  would  almost 
appear  as  if  he  were  in  a  manner  accountable,  as  an 
individual,  for  the  advancement  of  the  race;  as  if 
he  were  a  prophet  or  a  lawgiver,  commissioned  like 
those  who  ruled  and  guided  the  chosen  people  of 
God.  He  often  speaks  "  as  one  having  authority." 
This  tone,  though  to  the  practical  observer  it  is  some- 
times amusing,  was  doubtless  instinctive.  Dr.  Chan- 
ning  consciously  felt  that  the  legitimate  scope  for  his 
thought,  and  inspiration  for  his  feelings,  lay  in  pro- 
gressive views  of  society  and  widely  diflFused  sympathy 
for  man. 

The  remark  of  one  of  the  schoolfellows  of  Chan- 
ning,  when  the  latter  was  cited  as  an  example-—"  it 
is  easier  for  him  to  be  good" — at  once  recognises  a 
peculiar  moral  idiosyncrasy.  We  need  but  to  glance 
over  the  records  of  biography  to  perceive  that  there 
is  a  distinct  class  of  men  who  represent  the  saintly, 
as  others  do  the  heroic  and  poetical  character.  The 
retirement  in  which  such  natures  ripen,  was  sought  of 
old  in  the  hermitage  and  convent ;  and  now,  as  in 
the  instance  before  us,  in  a  kind  of  self-imposed  mona- 
chism.     It  is,  however,  a  serious  question  whether, 


CHANNING.  69 

after  all,  this  is  a  healthful  species  of  moral  develop- 
ment. Let  any  human  being  of  strong  will,  live  upon 
a  fixed  system  of  meditative  retirement,  and  his  pas- 
sions will  grow  calm,  his  interest  in  outward  life 
diminish,  and,  with  the  requisite  temperament,  he 
easily  becomes  rapt  in  spiritual  ecstasies.  When  a 
man  is  endowed  with  remarkable  conscientiousness 
and  veneration,  as  well  as  gifts  of  mind,  he  seems 
ordained  to  promulgate  truth  and  quicken  in  others 
the  sentiments  so  active  in  himself.  Such  was  the 
case  with  Dr.  Channing.  Yet  to  us  his  memory  is 
hallowed,  because  he  was  so  "  clear  in  his  great 
office,"  rather  than  from  an  unreserved  admiration 
of  his  personal  example.  As  a  moral  rhetorician, 
his  labours  have  reflected  honour  on  his  name  and 
country;  as  a  man — there  were  peculiarities  arising 
from  education,  physical  constitution,  and  tendencies 
of  nature,  which  rendered  him  a  very  incomplete 
representative  of  humanity.  No  one  more  eloquently 
discoursed  of  philanthropy ;  but  his  interest  in  man, 
in  the  abstract,  was  no  test  of  his  ready  sympathy 
with  the  individual.  Indeed,  we  have  observed  one 
trait  in  modern  philanthropists  which  has  sometimes 
reconciled  us  to  the  culture  of  humbler  virtues.  They 
are,  generally  speaking,  the  last  men  to  whom  are 
confided  personal  griefs,  or  whose  exclusive  amity  is 
sought.  They  generalize  with  the  heart  as  well  as 
the  mind;  burn  with  indignation  at  the  wrongs  in- 
flicted on  the  natives  of  Africa,  while  often  pro- 
foundly indifierent  to  the  true  welfare  of  one  of  their 


70  THE  MORALIST. 

own  household.  How  often  some  desolate  human 
being,  touched  by  their  written  appeals  in  behalf  of 
a  distant  class  of  sufferers,  is  inspired  with  confidence 
to  make  them  the  recipients  of  secret  troubles — to 
seek  from  them  counsel  and  encouragement  in  lone- 
liness and  doubt.  A  benevolent  father  of  the  Catholic 
church,  by  the  mere  claim  of  his  vocation — a  warm- 
hearted sailor  by  the  very  candid  generosity  of  his 
soul,  or  one  of  Nature's  sisters  of  charity — encoun- 
tered, as  they  are,  in  all  the  circles  of  life — were  a 
surer  ark  of  refuge.  The  views  of  the  professed  lover 
of  his  race  are  too  expansive.  .  His  benevolence  is 
purely  speculative.  His  sympathy  with  man,  is  like 
that  which  the  mere  botanist  has  for  a  flower,  or  the 
surgeon  for  a  human  form.  It  is  rather  professional 
than  natural ;  >nd  he  who  has  sought  a  conference 
with  such,  in  order  to  relieve  his  overcharged  heart, 
finds  his  utterance  choked,  his  tears  frozen,  and  every 
hope  of  recognition  die  within  him !  In  these  re- 
marks, we  design  no  indiscriminate  application  to  the 
revered  subject  of  the  memoir  before  us.  He  accom- 
plished good  enough  in  his  own  way — perhaps  the 
only  one  in  which  his  efficiency  was  certain ;  but  we 
desire  to  repudiate  the  common  notion,  that  useful- 
ness— in  its  highest  sense — is  confined  to  those  broad 
fields  of  philanthropic  enterprise,  which  an  influential 
class  among  us  seems  to  regard  as  the  only  legitimate 
arena  of  benevolence.  We  remember,  as  if  it  were 
but  yesterday,  at  the  close  of  a  winter's  day,  soon 
after  Dr.  Channing's  return  from  Europe,  when  his 


CHANNING.  7i 

slender  form  all  at  once  appeared  before  a  group  of 
mourners — one  of  the  families  of  his  parish,  who 
were  bereaved,  during  his  absence,  of  their  dearest 
earthly  friend.  As  he  stood  among  them  in  the  twi- 
light, and  the  flickering  blaze  revealed  his  high  and 
placid  brow, — the  eyes  of  one  of  those  motherless 
children — (in  whose  mind  his  image  was  associated 
with  the  sweetest  counsels  of  maternal  tenderness, 
and  upon  whom  his  priestly  hand  had  been  laid  in 
baptism) — instinctively  sought  his  face  with  a  pene- 
trating glance, — a  silent  appeal  for  some  word  of 
solace  in  that  dark  hour.  At  length  he  spoke — but 
it  was  to  exclaim,  "What  a  mysterious  Providence  !'' 
The  scene  had  awakened  a  speculative  reverie,  and 
not  one  tear  of  commiseration.  His  mind  was  busy 
in  the  attempt  to  reconcile  to  itself  a  sad  visitation; 
but  his  heart  swelled  not  at  the  sight  of  the  young 
band  left  alone  to  the  perils  of  the  world.  And 
when  he  rose  to  depart,  and  looked  back  upon  them, 
it  was  only  to  remark,  "  I  am  going  to  -my  solitary 
home."  His  own  family  had  not  yet  returned  from 
their  country  residence.  In  a  few  days  at  least,  their 
presence  would  brighten  his  fireside,  while  those  he 
left,  were  destined  for  years  to  a  home  made  solitary 
by  death !  This  incident  illustrates  the  truth  we 
design  to  suggest — that\the  sympathetic  and  re- 
flective character  have  distinct  provinces  of  action, 
and  that  any  one  who,  from  the  perusal  of  these 
interesting  memoirs,  should  deem  their  subject  a 
model  to  be  practically  adopted,  with  a  view  to  at- 


V2  THE  MORALIST. 

tain  the  same  moral  results,  would  commit  an  egre- 
gious error.  The  truth  is,  the  essence  of  Dr.  Chan- 
ning's  life  appears  in  his  writings.  There  he  emitted 
the  vital  aura  of  his  few  days  of  health.  There  he 
embodied  the  energy  of  feeling  whi<3h  other  and  less 
distinguished  men  give  to  the  offices  of  friendship  and 
love.  He  found,  at  an  early  age,  that  he  must  decide 
between  the  free  exercise  of  social  habits  and  feelings, 
and.  a  sphere  of  utility  based  essentially  upon  con- 
templation. Had  he  possessed  a  greater  mobility  of 
character,  power  of  adaptation,  and  facility  of  inter- 
course; especially  had  the  aflFections  of  his  nature 
been  as  individual  as  his  intellectual  processes,  he 
would  instinctively  have  cultivated  the  social  duties 
and  sentiments,  and  recognised  in  them,  no  small 
part  of  the  grace  and  benignity  of  life.  /  But  his  ill- 
health,  the  stern  influences  of  his  early  years,  the  ha- 
bit so  remarkable  in  New  England,  of  regarding  cha- 
racter at  the  two  extremes  of  right  and  wrong ;  and 
suspecting  all  zest  of  life  as  intrinsically  evil,  led  him 
to  cherish  will  beyond  sentiment,  to  feel,  Avith  singular 
force,  the  responsibility  incident  to  the  right  of  choice 
in  action ;  and  hence  to  lean  towards  stoicism  and 
penance.  It  is  true,  that  as  years  advanced,  the 
overstrained  chords  were  a  little  relaxed,  and  he  be- 
gan to  realize  how  much  innocent  delight  is  attainable 
through  a  receptive,  truthful,  genial  spirit.  He  ob- 
Berved  to  one  of  his  most  intimate  companions,  as 
this  softer  experience  dawned  upon  his  mellow  facul- 
ties,— that  perhaps  he  had  made  a  grand  mistake — 


CHANNING.  73 

perhaps  the  most  happy  and  satisfactory  life  was  one 
passed  in  the  free  and  earnest  exercise  of  the  affec- 
tions and  sympathies. 

Egotism  was  a  striking  trait  in  Dr.  Channing. 
He  was  jealous  of  the  least  encroachment  upon  his 
own  individuality.  The  first  person  singular  con- 
stantly appears  on  every  page  of  his  writings ;  and 
we  learn  from  the  letters  now  first  published,  that 
his  views  of  mental  philosophy  corresponded  with  his 
egotistical  instinct.  There  is  a  curious  subject  of 
speculation  and  one  which  we  believe  has  not  yet 
been  satisfactorily  discussed — the  relation  of  egotism 
to  genius  and  virtue.  A  peculiar  self-confidence,  in 
a  certain  sphere,  uniformly  characterizes  great  men 
in  every  department.  Indeed,  an  ingenious  writer* 
almost  makes  it  appear,  that  decision  of  character  is 
the  essence  of  all  superiority — -and  this  is  but  the 
result  of  personal  conviction — or  faith  in  the  results 
of  one's  own  thoughts.  Where  this  quality  predo- 
minates— if  united  with  any  real  moral  or  intellec- 
tual ability,  it  renders  its  possessor,  in  a  measure, 
oracular.  His  opinions  are  rather  announced  as  truths 
than  suggested  as  possibilities.  His  calm  trust  in 
himself  communicates  itself  to  his  writings  and  acts, 
a.nd  hence  the  authority  they  exert  over  the  multi- 
tude. We  deem  this  vivid  sense  of  personality  — 
this  disposition  to  view  all  subjects  in  the  light  of 
conscious  reflection,  as  the  trait  which  gives  nerve 

*  John  Faster. 
7 


74  THE  MORAtlST. 

and  clearness  to  Dr.  Channing's  diction,  and  impres- 
siveness  to  his  style.  He  had  the  serious,  collected 
air  of  one  who  had  enjoyed  special  revelations  ;  who 
occupied  a  higher  platform  than  his  fellows,  and  like 
the  mystics  of  the  East, — by  a  singular  discipline 
and  seclusion,  had  attained  clearer  glimpses  of  the 
unseen  and  the  eternal.  Egotism,  if  it  does  not 
betray  itself  offensively,  is  a  vast  source  of  influence. 
We  forgive  even  its  disagreeable  manifestations,  when 
united  with  genius  or  character.  As  a  man  of  action, 
Napoleon  was  the  greatest  egotist  that  ever  lived ; 
and  how  much  his  success  was  enhanced  and  secured 
by  the  unwavering  confidence  this  quality  inspires ! 
The  boorishness  of  Dr.  Johnson  was  forgiven  because 
of  the  sense  which  underlaid  his  dogmatism.  Dr. 
Channing's  egotism  was  that  of  a  moralist.  He 
enunciated  his  views  of  man's  nature  and  duties  in 
the  same  authoritative  style  that  the  bard  of  Rydal 
interprets  the  revelations  of  nature,  or  Davy  ex- 
pounds a  scientific  discovery. 

There  is  a  fresh-water  spring  that  gushes  up 
through  the  sea  on  the  Genoese  coast,  and,  by  the 
force  of  its  jet,  reaches  the  surface  untinctured  with 
the  brine  around  it.  \Dr.  Channing's  ideal  of  virtue 
was  apparently  to  preserve  an  inward  force  whereby 
his  nature  could  penetrate  and  rise  above  adjacent 
life  without  imbibing  its  qualities — intact,  free  and 
sustained.  His  loyalty  to  this  principle  undoubtedly 
is  one  cause  of  his  clearness,  force,  and  persuasive 
rhetoric.  ■  Perhaps  it  was  the  only  course  for  such  a 


CHANNXNG.  75 

man  to  pursue  ;  and  its  results  sufficiently  prove  its 
efficiency.  Yet  it  would  be  a  great  error  to  urge  its 
universal  adoption.  .As  a/ moralist.  Dr.  Channing 
chiefly  erred  by  deriving  nearly  atl  truth  from  .his 
o^n  Qonsciousness..  He  was  eminently  fitted  to 
attain  harmony  through  meditation.  His  genius 
wa&  essentially  monastic.  But  the  greater  number 
of  human  beings  can  only  improve  through  a  sympa- 
thetic culture.  They  assimilate  the  means  of  growth 
and  inward  felicity  through  love  rather  than  will. 
They  advance  in  proportion  as  they  forget  them- 
selves in  ^^an  idea  dearer  than  self/'  and  instead  of 
purposing  individual  good  as  an  ultimate  end  to  be  con- 
sciously sought,  they  instinctively  yield  themselves  up 
to  nature,  truth,  and  affection,  to  work  what  results 
they  may.  It  has  been  thus  with  great  men.  It  was 
so  with  Shakspeare  and  Burns.  It  is  so  with  the 
adventurous,  the  poetical,  and  the  heroic  character. 
To  fall  back  upon  consciousness,  to  isolate  life,  to 
seek  a  superhuman  alliance  with  truth,  would  be  to 
mar  and  enfeeble  both  their  usefulness  and  virtue. 
It  is  surely  possible  to  fraternize  without  losing 
identity,  to  accept  the  graceful,  the  wise  and  the 
kindly  agencies  of  life,  without  compromising  any 
private  right.  Yet,  according  to  the  school  of  which 
Dr.  Channing  is  the  most  eminent  exponent,  there  is 
something  dangerous  and  fearful  in  the  social  order 
instituted  by  God.  Emerson  thinks  we  should  '"^  sit 
like  gods  on  separate  peaks."  In  the  spirit  of  this 
philosophy  there  is  a  certain  degree  of  truth.  Poets 
and  sages  have  emphatically  indicated  the  office  of 


/^ 


76  THE  MORALIST. 

solitude,  as  holy,  mysterious,  and  desirable ;  but 
when  the  exclusive  principle  is  suffered  to  overlay 
elements  equally  important,  we  protest  against  it  as 
false,  irrational,  and  inhuman. 

One  problem,  therefore,  irresistibly  suggests  itself 
in  the  contemplation  of  such  a  life  and  its  results — 
the  comparative  worth  of  individualism  and  sympa- 
thy. Dr.  Channing  embodied  a  principle  that  lies 
at  the  foundation  of  modern  philosophy  and  consti- 
tutes the  distinctive  feature  of  German  literature. 
He  esteemed  intuition  far  above  observation;  he 
looked  chiefly  within  and  seldom  around  for  truth ; 
iri^a  jTQrd,  he  fortified  his  own  moral  nature  and 
dwelt  therein,  scarcely  ever  yielding  himself  to  the 
outward,  the  distant,  or  the  familiar.  This  is  the 
tone  of  his  writings  and  the  spirit  of  his  character  ; 
and  to  this  we  cannot  but  refer  much  that  was  pecu- 
liar and  enduring  in  his  agency.  In  a  general  point 
of  view  and  in  regard  to  the  majority  of  human 
beings,  perhaps  it  is  neither  feasible  nor  desirable 
that  individualism  should  be  so  completely  realized. 
Yet  it  seems  the  characteristic  which  almost  univer- 
sally belongs  to  the  functions  of  genius  and  con- 
science; and  in  this  age  of  multitudinous  experiment, 
and  in  this  country  of  broad  and  varied  external  ac- 
tivity, no  lesson  can  be  brought  home  with  more 
needful  advantage.  It  is  deeply  interesting  to  trace 
its  gradual  and  concentrated  influence,  its  distin- 
guished fruits  and  limitless  associations  as  unfolded 
in  these  pages. 

To  produce  an  adequate  impression  either  in  lite- 


CHANNING.  77 

rature  or  art,  two  conditions  are  indispensable — a 
command  of  tHe  materials  and  an  effective  subject. 
Language  is  the  medium  of  the  rhetorician,  ideas 
his  vantage-ground.  Over  the  latter  Channing  ob- 
tained a  characteristic  mastery.  Without  the  subtle 
tact  of  the  poet,  he  possessed  a  grasp  of  expression, 
whereby  he  effectually  made  words  the  vehicle  of 
truth, — rapid,  direct  and  significant.  In  opposition  to 
the  hopeless  theories  of  life  and  destiny  nourished  by 
the  gloomy  theology  which  prevailed  originally  in 
his  native  region,  he  seized  upon  certain  expansive 
and  encouraging  thoughts  based  on  the  latent  powers 
of  the  soul ;  and  these  he  strenuously  developed  as 
motives  of  action  and  pledges  of  growth.  The  exis- 
tence of  conscience,  will,  and  moral  sensibility  in 
man,  few  have  the  perverseness  to  deny ;  and  from 
these  he  deduced  high  conceptions  of  the  ability  and 
rights  of  our  common  nature.  To  aspiring,  gentle 
and  lofty  souls  such  appeals  came  as  divine  auguries. 
Upon  such,  the  influence  of  his  discourses  fell  with  a 
cheering  import.  They  awoke  a  faith  in  the  recupe- 
rative energy  of  the  moral  instincts.  They  sounded 
like  the  summons  of  a  clarion  amid  the  desolate 
gloom  of  remorseful  meditation.  They  quickened 
into  new  life  the  repressed  elasticity  of  the  mind ; 
and  by  imparting  a  consciousness  of  power,  called 
into  action  hopes,  aims,  and  sentiments,  which,  unen- 
voked,  might  have  long  slumbered  in  impotent  de- 
spair.    This  was  a   high   service.     Let   it  be  duly 

honoured.     We  believe  it  to  be  the  only  process  by 

7# 


78  THE  MORALIST. 

■which  a  class  of  men,  among,  the  noblest  of  their 
kind,  can  be  eifectually  roused  and  comforted ;  and 
in  view  of  the  sphere  of  utility  thus  realized,  it  is 
scarcely  grateful  to  criticise  the  example  which  these 
memoirs  reveal.  Yet,  there  is  a  vast  difference 
between  character  and  thought,  opinion  and  life, 
habit  and  genius.  For  the  truths  to  which  Channing 
attached  such  inestimable  value,  we  refer  to  his 
writings ;  for  a  portrait  of  the  man,  we  are  indebted 
to  his  biographer,  and  that  suggests  many  inferences 
which  serve  to  throw  new  light  upon  the  actual  rela- 
tion between  personality  and  faith.  One  great  prin- 
ciple we  everywhere  see  displayed  is  that  the  genera- 
tion of  an  inward  force  is  the  great  end  of  all  that 
deserves  the  name  of  education.  Not  in  scholarship, 
readiness,  tact,  or  discipline — but  in  the  capacity  to 
think  wisely,  to  feel  truly,  to  act  justly,  lies  the  ab- 
solute greatness  of  man.  It  is  in  vain  to  evade  or 
conceal  this  primal  fact.  In  Channing's  own  words, 
"  to  get  a  disposable  strength  of  intellect,"  is  after 
all  th«  one  thing  needful  in  all  genuine  mental  cul- 
ture. Doubtless  this  is  to  be  attained  in  various 
ways,  according  to  the  tendencies  and  gifts  of  the 
individual ;  in  his  case  it  was  by  meditative  rather 
than  external  intentness  that  the  boon  was  sought 
and  found.  And  to  enforce  this  law,  as  the  requisite 
of  similarly  constituted  beings,  seems  to  us  the  essen- 
tial truth  to  be  gleaned  from  these  volumes.  It  is 
only  partially  recognised  in  our  systems  of  education 
and  individual  theories.     Lamb  says  a  man  may  lose 


CHANNING.  79 

himself  in  another's  ideas  as  easily  as  in  a  neigh- 
bour's grounds.  We  may  be  so  diverted  from  all 
singleness  of  purpose  and  individuality  of  life,  as  to 
defeat  the  very  object  sought  abroad,  even  among 
the  richest  -fields  of  experience.  "  To  thine  own  self 
be  true,"  was  a  maxim  of  the  sagacious  and  prudent 
courtier ;  more  nobly  interpreted,  it  is  also  the  doc- 
trine of  moral  insight,  and  one  which  Channing  has 
most  admirably  illustrated. 


it. 


The  obstacle  which  has  interfered  with  a  just 
appreciation  of  Swift,  by  British  writers,  has  been 
political  opinion.  Hence  the  two  extremes  of  lauda- 
tion and  censure  manifested  in  Scott's  partial  bio- 
graphy and  Jeffrey's  caustic  review.  It  is,  indeed, 
to  be  regretted  by  all  lovers  of  literature,  in  its 
broad  and  artistic  relations,  when  a  great  writer  be- 
comes a  violent  partisan.  The  interest  of  his  works 
is  thus  rendered  temporary  and  their  spirit  narrowed. 
Instead  of  comprehensive  views  fitted  to  charm  the  ' 
thinker  of  a  distant  generation,  they  too  often  yield 
but  clever  instances  of  special  pleading,  and  are  in- 
tended for  a  day  and  not  for  all  time.  Although  a 
great  part  of  Swift's  writings  belong  to  this  class,  the 
fact  that  they  have  survived  and  are  still  read  with 
zest,  is  the  best  proof  of  his  originality.  What  strikes 
us,  at  once,  in  his  literary  career,  is  its  remarkable 
efficiency.  It  is  common  to  regard  the  man  of  letters 
and  the  man  of  action  as  wholly  distinct ;  but  in 
Swift  we  have  an  example  of  their  identity.  The 
results  of  his  pen  were  actual,  tangible,  and  impres- 
sive. He  wrote  seldom  for  display,  occasionally  for 
amusement,  but,  in  general,  to  produce   a   decided 


SWIFT.  81 

end,  in  which  he  seldom  failed.  His  life  is  a  com- 
plete refutation  of  the  utilitarian  sneer  at  the  vanity 
of  authorship.  Here  we  have  a  man  of  no  estate 
and  obscure  birth,  by  the  mere  force  of  his  diction 
and  the  energy  of  his  thought,  exercising  an  influence 
upon  those  possessed  of  executive  power  to  such  a 
degree  as  to  control  and  direct  it.  We  see  him 
espouse  a  cause  in  his  study  and  are  assured  of  its 
triumph ;  we  hear  his  repartee  at  a  political  dinner 
silence  a  concerted  opposition ;  we  follow  the  para- 
graph which  he  has  indited  for  a  journal,  as  it  circu- 
lates through  a  kingdom,  and  diverts  into  a  new 
channel  the  whole  tide  of  public  opinion.  Pamphlets 
were  his  ammunition.  With  these  he  carried  on 
argumentative  and  satirical  war,  and  waged  battles 
for  a  party  or  a  whim.  A  sarcasm,  or  an  epigram 
often  enabled  him  to  attain  his  social  objects ;  and  he 
inflamed  the  popular  heart  with  appeals  distributed 
by  the  ballad-mongers.  Thus  his  single  will  was  con- 
tinually achieving  its  ends,  and  his  thought  moulding 
opinion.  Like  the  renowned  man-at-arms  of  the 
middle  ages,  his  services  and  allegiance  were  eagerly 
sought  by  those  in  power,  and  his  pen  was  to  him 
what  the  sword  was  to  the  brave  and  skilful  of  an 
earlier  day — the  instrument  at  once  of  fortune,  ven- 
geance, and  glory. 

Hence  his  success  is  to  be  estimated  by  the  number 
of  his  immediate  triumphs,  rather  than  by  the  dura- 
tion of  his  fame.  He  wrote  always  for  a  special  pur- 
pose, and  this  accomplished,  gave  himself  no  farther 


82 


THE  WIT. 


trouble.  His  mind  was  essentially  practical,  his 
aims  invariably  definite.  Few  English  writers  have 
laboured  to  such  good  purpose,  if  we  deem  the  reali- 
zation of  individual  desire — the  impinging  of  one's 
way  of.  thinking  upon  others,  as  the  test  of  ability. 
Whether  to  gratify  a  caprice,  to  punish  an  enemy,  to 
convert  an  antagonist,  or  to  change  the  face  of  pub- 
lic affairs.  Swift  wrote  with  a  taet,  a  force,  and  a 
clearness,  that  almost  insured  a  satisfactory  issue. 
He  selected  the  best  weapon  and  used  it  with  rare 
judgment.  He  did  not  seem  to  consider  writing  as 
an  ideal,  but  a  practical  art.  It  was  his  unfailing 
resource.  If  we  would  appreciate  his  efficiency  as  an 
author, — without  reckoning  the  influence  of  his  pen 
when  in  the  service  of  the  English  ministry,  at  which 
time  it  is  acknowledged  that  he  long  controlled  the 
political  views  of  the  nation, — let  us  remember  the 
fact,  that  one  of  his  pamphlets  caused  the  erection  of 
fifty  new  churches  in  London ;  that  the  "  Predictions 
of  Isaac  BickerstaflF,"  besides  exciting  the  activity  of 
the  Inquisition  of  Portugal,  gave  the  primary  impulse 
to  periodical  literature  and  originated  the  British 
essayists ;  that  the  pretended  confession  of  EUiston 
actually  checked  street-robbery  for  years ;  that  he 
made  the  fortune  of  Barber  the  printer,  afterwards 
Lord  Mayor,  and  that  the  Drapier's  Letters  were  the 
first  and  may  yet  be  recorded  as  the  most  effectual 
blow  ever  struck  for  Ireland.  With  such  fruits  the 
pen-craft  of  Swift  abounded.  His  life  is  a  wonderful 
contrast  to  that  of  the  meditative  of  the  lettered  race. 


SWIFT.  83 

Conflict  apparently  was  his  delight.    Authorship  was 
a  single-handed  fight.     He  was  a  kind  of  intellectual 
gladiator,  and  only  in  the  excitement  of  a  war  of 
opinion,  or  a  skirmish  of  wit,  appears  to  have  been 
able  to  render  himself  oblivious  of  a  morbid  physique 
and  corroding  passions.     He  long  enjoyed  a  wide 
mental  dictatorship,  such  as  Boswell's  idol  aspired 
to,  but  only  attained   in  a  particular  circle.     His 
enterprise  of  mind  has  been  rarely  equalled.     He 
was  a  bold,  opinionative  adventurer ;  formidable  in 
grave   discussions   and   ingenious   in   trifling.       No 
curious  speculations,  no  aspiring  visions,  no  exqui- 
sitely elaborated  fancies  adorn  his  page ;  but  pungent 
sense,  keen  wit,  adroit  argument,  and  vigorous  judg- 
ment often  lead  us  to  respect  where  we  can  neither 
admire  nor  love.     Swift's  power  lay  in  his  grasp  of 
the  actual.     He  had  a  clear,  but   not  an   exalted 
vision.      He  looked  more  frequently  to  the  strata 
beneath  than  the  stars  above  him;  and  was  more 
anxious  for  a  good  foothold  on  the  material  present 
than  a  clear  glimpse  into  the  eternal  future.     He 
dealt  mainly  with  the  positive,  the  attainable — the 
facts  and  interests  of  life  and  man-— and  the  motives 
and  tendencies  of  the  hour.     He  was  a  kind  of  in- 
spired Cobbeti,  and  wrote  very  much  on  the  prin- 
ciples upon  which  Stuart  painted.     Refinement,  deli- 
cacy— all  that  we  intend  by  the  term  ideal — seemed 
alien  to  his  nature.      He  possessed  eminently  the 
genius  of  common  sense.     His  insight  was  that  of 
afi*airs.     Of  the  able  men  of  his  day,  he  was  best 


84  THE  WIT. 

armed  and  equipped  for  the  useful  in  literature.  He 
threw  the  light  of  genuine  intelligence  on  many  of 
the  questions  of  the  time,  and  addressed  the  univer- 
sal mind  in  a  way  readily  understood.  Hence  both 
his^usefulness  and  popularity.  To  a  like  cause  we 
attribute  that  indifference  to  his  literary  reputation 
which  has  been  noticed  as  a  peculiarity.  He  had 
not  the  imagination  to  cherish  the  highest  view  of 
the  art  he  cultivated.  Its  value  to  him  was  compa- 
ratively material.  The  objects  he  sought  rendered 
the  means  employed  secondary.  He  exercised  au- 
thorship as  an  attorney  pleads — with  learning,  logic, 
ingenuity  and  eloquence,  but  when  the  case  w^s 
gained,  the  plea  was  forgotten.  The  principles 
which  endear  literature,  as  such,  are  truth  and  taste, 
the  former  recognising  the  substance,  the  latter  the 
form.  Swift  was  so  much  occupied  with  the  advo- 
cacy of  particular  ideas  and  the  achievement  of  tem- 
porary projects,  that  he  scarcely  dreamed  of  embody- 
ing his  talents  in  a  production  of  well-considered 
elegance  and  lasting  grace.  Carelessness  is  stamped 
on  all  his  works.  Their  harmony  is  incomplete.  If 
he  verges  on  sentiment,  it  is  soon  profaned  by  levity ; 
the  brightness  of  his  intelligence  is  obscured  by  vul- 
garity ;  and  the  subtlety  of  his  judgment  blunted  by 
the  coarseness  of  his  expressions. 

To  great  mental  activity  Swift  united  a  singular 
force  of  purpose.  He  was  both  acute  and  relentless, 
and  hence  admirably  fitted  to  excel  as  a  partisan 
writer.     Much  has  been  said  of  his  inconsistency  in 


SWIFT.  85 

"this  vocation,  but  when  all  the  circumstances  are 
weighed,  it  does  not  appear  so  glaring.  He  was 
confessedly  a  moderate  Whig,  and  carried  the  same 
temper  to  the  other  standard.  Macaulay,  in  his 
recent  history — after  tracing  the  real  origin  of  the 
two  great  English  parties  to  the  Long  Parliament, 
justly  declares  that  .the  country  could  spare  neither, 
and  that  their  mutual  action  gave  birth  to  and  con- 
firmed the  happily  balanced  principles  of  constitu- 
tional government.  He  also  recognises  a  similar  dis- 
tinction in  the  very  nature  of  society — with  reference 
to  art,  literature,  and  manners,  as  well  as  in  politics. 
Such  is  the  opinion  of  all  liberal  and  enlightened 
men.  Doubtless  Swift  embarked  in  the  career  of  a 
political  essayist,  in  part,  from  motives  of  self-inte- 
rest; but  his  early  initiation  into  comprehensive 
speculations  while  secretary  to  Sir  William  Temple, 
his  knowledge  of  ^  the  world,  and  his  keen  perception 
of  merits  and  defects,  both  in  character  and  in  theo- 
ries, justify  the  inference  that  he  belonged  to  the 
clear-sighted  and  right-feeling  class  indicated  by  the 
fluent  historian,  who  occupy  the  frontier  ground,  and, 
therefore,  are  not  to  be  condemned  as  insincere  for 
alternate  skirmishes  on  both  sides.  Candour  will  not 
fail  often  to  discern  essential  principles  in  the  views 
he  advocated,  however  contradictory ;  and  Jeffrey's 
inference  that  in  the  Drapier's  Letters,  his  object 
was  "  not  to  do  good  to  Ireland,  but  to  vex  the 
English  ministry,"  is  quite  gratuitous.  Li  this,  as  in 
most  cases,  he  doubtless  acted  from  blended  motives; 

8 


86  THE  WIT. 

for  throughout  his  life  he  seems  to  have  taken  a 
peculiar  delight  in  exercising  benevolence  morosely, 
and  giving  way  to  malevolence  urbanely, — enjoying 
the  zest  of  retaliation  and  the  consciousness  of  doing 
good  at  the  same  time.  Thus  we  believe  his  sym- 
pathy with  Lord  Oxford  was  as  real  as  his  pleasure 
at  the  success  of  his  new  allies,  and  therefore  it  was 
not  inconsistent  to  prefer  to  cheer  the  sad  journey  of 
vthe  one  to  uniting  in  the  triumph  of  the  other.  It  is 
not  unusual  to  find  bitternesss  and  charity  in  the 
same  heart.  Generous  people  are  not  infrequently 
vindictive — especially  through  offended  pride.  Swift 
was  brutal  in  his  satirical  persecution  of  Tighe,  Bet- 
tesworth,  and  others  who  were  so  unfortunate  as  to 
cross  his  path ;  yet,  on  this  account,  we  should  not, 
in  the  least,  question  the  genuine  kindness  which  led 
him  to  write  stories  to  increase  the  half-pay  of  a 
worthy  old  captain,  give  the  copyright  of  a  popular 
ballad  to  a  deserving  widow,  yield  so  cordially  his 
first  benefice  to  a  poor  clergyman,  loan  money  stated- 
ly to  the  indigent,  and  found,  by  will,  a  lunatic  asy- 
lum in  Dublin,  which  yet  bears  witness  to  his  philan- 
thropy. In  fact,  to  nomenclate  character  as  we  do 
plants  and  minerals,  is  absurd,  and  especially  in  a 
case  like  Swift,  who  exhibited  unusual  contradictions. 
He  who  uttered  a  withering  sarcasm  with  the  cruelty 
of  an  inquisitor,  used  to  pray  with  meek  devotion ; 
the  misanthrope  who  read  his  coming  fate  in  the 
withered  top  of  a  lofty  elm,  went  through  the  elabo- 
rate joke  of  waiting  on  his  own  servants  at  supper; 


SWIFT.  87 

and  the  greatest  of  libellers  was  made  unhappy,  for 
days,  by  a  cold  look  from  Temple.  He  was  disgraced 
at  college  for  frolics  which  he  long  afterwards  de- 
clared, instead  of  originating  in  exuberant  youthful 
spirits,  were  entered  into  purely  from  the  reckless- 
ness of  thwarted  desires.  In  his  dogmatism  and 
morbid  irritability  Swift  resembled  Dr.  Johnson ;  in 
his  rough  kindliness,  Abernethy.  His  economy 
appears  to  have  originated  in  a  keen  sense  of  early 
privation  and  a  somewhat  uncommon  appreciation, 
for  a  man  of  letters,  of  pecuniary  responsibility. 
His  melancholy  and  fits  of  temper  grew  out  of 
disease  and  baffled  hopes.  Patronage  galled  his 
proud  and  sensitive  nature,  and  yet  it  was  his  life- 
long doom, — first  from  relatives,  then  from  govern- 
ment. The  prejudice  excited  in  Queen  Anne's  mind 
by  the  Archbishop  of  York,  on  account  of  the  alleged 
infidelity  in  the  "  Tak  of.  a  Tub,"  is  supposed  to  be 
the  reason  of  the  "long  delays"  he  endured,  and  the 
final  inadequate  appointment  of  Dean  of  St.  Patrick 
— a  title  which,  however  undesirable  in  his  own  esti- 
mation, soon  become  famous  enough  to  satisfy  ordi- 
nary ambition.  This  "honourable  exile,"  as  he  calls 
it,  was  attended  by  an  unprecedented  local  conside- 
ration after  Swift  proved. himself  a  successful  cham- 
pion of  Ireland ;  and  the  oblation  of  her  people,  at 
his  death,  after  three  years  of  insanity  had  sepa- 
rated him  from  the  associations  of  life,  has  never 
been  surpassed  for  regretful  sentiment  and  zealous 
honours.  . 


88  THE  WIT. 

Swift's  most  celebrated  papers  are  of  an  allegori- 
cal kind,  and  though  interspersed  with  judicious  re- 
marks and  clever  hits,  to  a  reader  whose  taste  has 
Ibeen  formed  on  later  models,  cannot  fail  to  be 
tedious.  Thus  "  The  Tale  of  a  Tub"  is  an  elaborate 
satire  upon  popery,  ingenious  and  often  correct,  yet 
quite  unintelligible  without  the  notes,  and  spun  out 
to  a  wearisome  degree  ;  the  same  may  be  said  of  the 
"Battle  of  the  Books''  and  the  "Essay  on  Polite 
Conversation."  The  Dialogues  of  the  latter  are  an 
exaggerated  take-oflf  of  the  strained  wit  that  prevailed 
in  the  author's  day,  and  parts  of  them  are  quite  aS 
amusing  as  a  good  comedy.  We  have  many  speci- 
mens of  this  allegorical  and  indirect  way  of  enforcing 
a  truth,  or  illustrating  a  moral,  to  which  Swift  re- 
sorted, such  as  Telemachus,  Rasselas,  and  Sartor 
Resartus,  which  unite  invention  with  far  more  earn- 
estness and  beauty.  Indeed  the  vulgarity  of  Swift 
is  sometimes  unendurable.  He  seems  to  delight  in 
low  metaphors  and  gross  allusions,  ^is  coarseness 
is  gratuitous  and  his  smut  deliberate.  He  repudiates 
Pope's  axiom,  that  "want  of  decency  is  want  of 
sense,"  for  the  two  are  constantly  mingled  in  his 
writings.  Irony  and  paradox  he  developes  with  a 
prolonged  relish.  A  very  characteristic  instance  of 
both  is  afforded  in  his  defence  of  madness,  founded 
on  the  idea  that — "  he  that  can  with  Epicurus,  con- 
tent his  ideas  with  the  films  and  images  that  fly  upon 
his  senses  from  the  superficies  of  things ;  such  a  man, 
truly  wise,  creams  off  nature,,  leaving  the  sour  and 


SWiFT.  89 

the  dregs  for  philosophy  and  reason  to  lap  up.  This 
is  the  sublime  and  refined  point  of  felicity,  called  the 
possession  of  being  well  deceived ;  the  serene,  peace- 
ful state  of  being  a  fool  among  knaves."  The  acute- 
ness  exhibited  in  this  chapter  is  afiecting  when  we 
remember  that  the  mind  that  dallied  so  boldly  with 
the  most  awful  visitation  to  which  humanity  is  sub- 
ject, was  destined  to  become  its  prey.  The  meta- 
phors of  Swift  remind  us  occasionally  of  Crabbe. 
They  are  of  the  humblest  kind ;  yet  often  significant, 
for  instance,  "Wisdom  is  a  hen,  whose  cackling  we 
must  value  and  consider,  because  it  is  attended  with 
an  egg  ;  but  then,  lastly,  it  is  a  nut,  which,  unless 
you  choose  with  judgment,  may  cost  you  a  tooth,  and 
pay  you  with  nothing  but  a  worm.'' 

Satire  has  its  oflSce  in  literature  and  in  the  afiairs 
of  the  world,  but  it  is  one  so  liable  to  abuse  and  so 
infrequently  in  alliance  with  perfect  justice,  that  its 
exercise  is  seldom  desirable.  Where  appeals  to  the 
reason  and  feelings  prove  insufficient,  ridicule  is 
sometimes  the  only  available  means  left.  No  one 
doubts  that  the  keen  edge  of  criticism  has  lopped 
away  excrescences  and  caused  the  sap  in  the  tree  of 
knowledge  to  evolve  in  fruits  and  blossoms.  Gol- 
doni's  comedies  visibly  reformed  Venetian  practices. 
Again  and  again,  in  France,  the  social  tone  has  been 
modified  by  polished  satirical  attacks.  In  England, 
the  first  essayists  gracefully  laughed  away  many  in- 
digenous follies ;  and  the  brilliant  reviewers  of  a  later 
day  have  shamed  into  deserved  obscurity  the  preten- 
se 


90  THE  WIT. 

sions  of  lettered  mediocrity.  In  poetry,  in  fashion, 
in  art,  and  even  in  personal  character,  we  see  the 
most  wonderful  improvements  brought  about  by  a  dis- 
criminating use  of  this  weapon.  It  is  a  reformer  that 
penetrates  where  gentler  ministrants  find  no  admit- 
tance ;  and  even  in  social  intercourse,  its  delicate  and 
kindly  introduction  has  a  wholesome  effect — restrain- 
ing presumption,  exciting  the  apathetic,  and  giving 
point  and  spirit  to  conversation.  Let  this  be  conceded 
to  satire  divorced  from  malignity;  but  in  the  hands  of 
the  selfish  or  arbitrary,  there  is  no  more  dangerous 
facility  or  remorseful  gift.  Not  for  a  moment  can 
we  hesitate  in  choosing  between  the  gentleness  which 
is  power  and  the  power  whose  only  attribute  is 
cruelty.  Hazlitt  has  admirably  defined  wit  as  the 
"eloquence  of  indifiference."  There  is  a  certain 
want  of  heart  in  those  who  possess  it  as  a  prevailing 
trait.  It  is  not  surprising  that  Swift  endorsed  the 
maxims  of  Rochefoucault.  The  process  by  which  the 
satirist  vanquishes  even  error,  is  an  indurating  one. 
He  must  often,  as  a  preparatory  step,  hush  the 
pleadings  of  humanity.  He  wounds  it  may, be  to 
cure,  but  how  seldom  is  it  done  "  more  in  sorrow 
than  in  anger;"  and  how  constantly  does  it  breed 
animosity !  We  cannot  lose  sight  of  the  great  fact 
that  writing  is  a  deliberate  act.  The  cutting  word 
spoken  in  an  ebullition  of  temper  and  the  fatal  blow 
struck  on  the  instant  of  provocation,  are  far  more 
defensible  than  the  carefully  penned  lampoon  or  the 
stab  of  the  assassin's  dagger.     We  envy  not  the  mid- 


SWIFT.  91 

night  reveries  of  the  man  whose  pen  is  habitually 
employed  as  an  instrument  of  intellectual  revenge ; 
and  the  meanest  threat  we  ever  imagined,  was  that 
of  an  unprincipled  man  of  genius,  in  his  quarrel  with 
an  honest  farmer, — that  he  would  "write  him  down." 
The  dark  side  of  Swift's  career,  as  a  writer,  is  its 
malign  aspect.  We  speak  not  of  the  keenness  of  his 
onsets  in  honest  controversy,  when  he  manfully  bat- 
tled for  his  party,  for  the  Church  of  England,  or  for 
suffering  Ireland;  sarcasms  may  be  heaped  upon 
theories,  acts  of  public  assemblies  and  projects  of 
government,  without  involving  the  peace  of  any 
human  being;  but  the  personal  satire  of  Swift  is 
often  not  only  merciless,  but  wholly  unjustifiable. 
His  persecution  of  Steele,  who  had  once  been  his 
friend,  is  an  instance.  The  truth  is,  there  are  points 
of  honour  taken  for  granted  by  chivalric  natures,  in 
all  conflicts, — and  one  is  that  it  is  unfair  to  attack 
an  open  enemy  with  a  weapon  he  cannot  sway,  and 
of  which  his  antagonist  is  master.  Swift  repeatedly 
made  satirical  war  upon  men  utterly  incapable  of  any 
retaliation  except  that  of  the  duello,  from  which  the 
Dean's  sacred  ofiice  protected  him. 

His  hardihood,  in  this  respect,  is  evinced  by  his 
cherished  resentments.  He  detested  Trinity  College 
all  his  life,  because  it  was  the  scene  of  his  youthful 
punishment ;  he  continued  to  hate  those  of  his  kin- 
dred who  had  displeased  him  as  a  boy ;  and  he  never 
forgave  Queen  Caroline  for  not  sending  the  medals 
she  had  promised  him  while  princess.     He  could  use 


92  THE  WIT. 

facts,  the  knowledge  of  which  he  gained  in  friend- 
ship, to  the  injury  of  his  adversary  after  a  change  of 
feeling  occurred.  It  is  no  wonder  that  one  of  his 
victims  attempted  to  cut  off  his  ears.  In  the  inten- 
sity of  his  scorn  he  reminds  the  American  reader  of 
John  Randolph.  Literature  he  seemed  to  regard  as 
an  arena  rather  than  a  resource.  It  was  his  vantage- 
ground,  whereon  he  made  himself  amends  for  the 
churlishness  of  fortune.  It  was.  to  him  an  armory, 
not  a  bower  ;  he  sought  its  thorns  to  head  arrows  of 
revenge,  not  its  roses  to  weave  garlands  for  the  ban- 
quet ;  its  asperities  rather  than  its  amenities  were 
his  delight.  In  a  word.  Swift  carried  the  passions 
which  men  of  action  develope  in  deeds,  into  his  intel- 
lectual life.  Tasso  used  his  pen  to  celebrate  a  holy 
crusade  or  the  charms  of  his  love,  and  met  his  ene- 
mies, like  a  brave  gentleman,  with  his  sword  ;  Swift 
too  often  desecrated  the  sacred  office  of  the  one  to 
the  butchery  of  the  other. 

Evon  when  thwarted  by  the  indifference  or  inca- 
pacity of  woman,  his  annoyance  vented  itself  in 
satire.  It  is  curious  that  while  few  intellectual  men 
ever  took  more  pains  to  develope  the  sex,  no  one 
more  affected  to  despise  them.  He  takes  infinite 
pains  to  repel  the  idea  of  love  as  a  weakness,  extols 
the  lasting  happiness  of  genuine  friendship,  and  de- 
scribes his  intercourse  with  the  youngest  of  his  vic- 
tims as  merely  paternal. 

^  His  conduct  might  have  made  him  styled 

A  fatlier  and  the  nymph  his  child, 


swift:  93 

Such  innocent  delight  he  took 
To  see  the  virgin  mind — her  book. 

One  would  suppose,  however,  from  the  annexed 
passage,  that  he  would  have  grown  sooner  weary 'of 
this  charming  study. 

In  a  dull  stream  which  moving  slow, 

You  hardly  see  the  current  flow ; 

If  a  small  breeze  obstruct  the  course, 

It  whirls  about  for  want  of  force. 

And  in  its  narrow  circle  gatl;iers 

Nothing  but  chaff,  and  straw,  and  feathers. 

The  current  of  a  female  mind 

Stops  thus  and  turns  with  every  wind ; 

Thus  whirling  round  together  draws 

Fools,  fops  and  rakes  for  chaff  and  straws. 

Hence  we  conclude  no  woman's  parts 

Are  won  by  virtue,  wit,  and  parts 

Nor  are  the  men  of  sense  to  blame 

For  breasts  incapable  of  flame. 

There  is  something  very  beautiful  in  the  relation 
of  intellectual  men  to  gifted  women — a  process  of 
mutual  development — ^the  history  of  which,  in  many 
instances,  it  is  delightful  to  trace ;  but  the  order  of 
nature  seems  to  have  been  reversed  in  the  case 
before  us.  The  desire  to  be  loved  existed  chiefly  on 
the  part  of  those  to  whom  he  seems  to  have  given 
his  society,  while  his  expressed  feelings  towards 
them  were  objective  and  independent.  It  is  true,  in 
allusion  to  the  death  of  Stella,  he  speaks  of  her  as 
''that  person  for  whose  sake  only  life  was  worth 
preserving  ;"  and  yet  he  never  recognised,  while  en- 


94  THE  WIT. 

joying  the  amplest  opportunity,  the  sympathies  he 
constantly  evoked.  It  is  true  that  Vanessa  inge- 
nuously avows  how  much  her  nature  is  indebted  for 
its  growth  and  expansion  to  his  influence,  but  he 
never  inspired  her  with  that  confidence  which  alone 
renders  the  affections  a  source  of  true  happiness. 

Still  listening  to  his  tuneful  tongue 

The  truths  which  angels  might  have  sung, 

Divine  imprest  their  gentle  sway, 

And  sweetly  stole  my  soul  away, 

My  guide,  instructor,  lover,  friend, 

Dear  names,  in  one  idea  blend. 

Perhaps  a  latent  conviction  of  the  unenviable 
reputation  of  a  satirist,  induced  him  to  disavow 
malevolence,  and  defend  the  kind  of  writing  to 
which  he  was  addicted.  "  There  is  very  little 
satire,''  he  says,  "which  has  not  something  in  it 
untouched  before,  but  the  materials  of  panegyric 
being  very  few  in  number,  have  long  since  been  ex- 
hausted.'' Originality,  indeed,  appears  to  have  been 
a  cardinal  point  with  Swift ;  and  to  this  quality 
almost  exclusively  he  owes  the  continuance  of  his 
fame.  He  boasts  that  he  was  never  known  to  steal 
a  hint.  The  party  questions  he  discussed,  are  com- 
paratively without  interest ;  as  an  essayist,  he  has 
been  superseded  by  more  graceful  and  versatile 
pens  ;  as  a  rhymester,  the  higher  level  of  taste  con- 
demns him  to  neglect ;  but  as  the  author  of  Gulli- 
ver's Travels  his  renown  is  firmly  based.  Though 
intended  as  a  local  satire,  the  novelty  of  the  concep- 


SWIFT.  95 

tion  and  the  verisimilitude  of  the  execution,  mark 
this  work  as  one  of  true  genius,  whose  standard 
value  is  only  diminished  by  the  occasional  blemishes 
of  a  low  and  perverted  taste.  It  exhibits  the  same 
circumstantial  felicity  in  description  which  Caleb 
Williams  does  in  events.  Besides  this  capo  d' opera 
of  satirical  writing,  Swift  vindicated  himself  more 
explicitly  elsewhere ;  facts,  however,  do  not  warrant 
the  complacency  of  his  statement. 

He  spared  a  hump  or  crooked  nose 

Whose  owners  set  not  up  for  beaux, 

True  genuine  dulness  moved  his  pity 

Unless  it  offered  to  be  witty. 

Those  who  their  ignorance  confessed 

He  ne'er  offended  with  a  jest, 

But  laughed  to  hear  an  idiot  quote 

A  verse  from  Horace  learned  by  rote.  \ 

It  is  conceded  that  the  most  satisfactory  part  of 
Swift's  life,  at  least  in  his  own  estimation,  were  his 
busy  years  in  London,  spent  in  the  service  of  party 
leaders  of  this  epoch,  of  which  we  have  a  full  account 
in  the  "Journal  to  Stella" — a  record  which  confirms 
our  preconceived  notion  of  his  character.  It  shows 
his  devotion  to  the  actual  by  his  brief  chronicle  of 
the  events  of  each  day,  with  few  comments  or  fancies 
to  enliven  the  summary;  his  egotism  by  the  im- 
portance he  attaches  to  the  least  thing  that  concerns 
himself;  his  want  of  refinement  by  the  coarseness  of 
the  epithets ;  his  arbitrary  tendency  by  its  tone,  and 
his  deficient  ideality  by  the  absence  of  beautiful  sen- 


96  THE  WIT. 

timent  or  graceful  expression.    His  relation  to  Stella 
is  only  to  be  inferred  from  the  familiarity  and  confi- 
dence of  its  revelations ;  it  implies  intimacy  rather 
than  tenderness.     To  know  how  a  man  passes  his 
time  is,  however,  no  slight  assistance  to  the  interpre- 
tation of  his   life  and  genius.     According  to  this 
journal.  Swift  was  in  a  constant  whirl  of  political 
and  social  excitement,  and  a  rainy  or  an  ill  day  he, 
therefore,  found  quite  "apathetic.''     He  dined  with 
ministers,  envoys,  lords  and  duchesses, — visited  Con- 
greve  in  his  blindness,  called  for  his  letters  at  Steele's 
office,  chatted  with  Rowe  and  Prior  at  one  coffee- 
house, and  joined  Harley  in  anathematizing  the  oppo- 
sition at  another ;  supped  often  with  Addison,  wrote 
an  occasional  paper  for  the  Tatler,  and  daily  jotted 
down  for  Stella's  enlightenment,  the  state  of  his  health 
and  the  weather,  the  names  of  new  acquaintances  and 
the  conduct  of  old,  the  dishes  he  had  eaten,  the  geo- 
graphy of  his  lodgings,  the  nick-nacks  he  had  pur- 
chased to  bring  to  Ireland,  and  the   stage  of  his 
progress  in  a  political  despatch,  in  the  advocacy  of 
a  petition,  or  the  composition  of  a  lampoon.     He 
expresses  violent  anger  towards  all  whose  treatment 
dissatisfies  him,  and  frankly  talks  of  going  to  bed 
"rolling  resentments  in  his  mind."     This  diary  ex- 
hibits the  greatest  activity  of  mind  and  consciousness 
of  ability,  and  an  extraordinary  mixture  of  satirical, 
inquiring,  ambitious,  and  convivial  temper,  with  so 
little  of  the  enthusiasm  of  the  poet,  the  tenderness  of 
the  lover,  or  the  spirituality  of  the  divine,  that  we  can 


SWIFT.  97 

seldom  realize  that  its  author  ever  had  any  legitimate 
claim  to  either  title.  ^ 

Dry  den's  prediction  that  Swift  would  never  be  a 
poet  seems  to  us  to  have  been  verified;  and  this 
opinion  we  infer  not  only  from  his  versified  but  his 
prose  compositions.  His  facility  in  the  use  of  lan- 
guage, his  "  knack  of  rhyming/'  and  the  various  odes 
and  other  metrical  pieces  which  are  found  in  his 
collected  works,  do  not  invalidate  our  position.  The 
term  poet  has  now  more  than  a  technical  meaning. 
It  is  used  to  designate  a  certain  species  of  character 
and  tone  of  mind,  and  is  often  applied  to  those  who 
have  not  written  verse,  and,  perhaps,  never  written  at 
all.  A  deep  sense  of  the  beautiful,  and  intimate 
relations  with  the  human,  the  natural  and  the  divine, 
arising  from  earnestness  of  feeling  and  spirituality 
of  perception,  are  qualities  now  regarded  as  essential 
to  the  name  of  poet.  In  these  Swift  was  singularly 
deficient.  All  that  gave  point  to,  or  yet  redeem  his 
verses,  are  their  cleverness  of  diction  and  their  wit. 
No  poet  could  habitually  write  such  prose.  It  is 
utterly  destitute  of  glow;  there  are  no  kindling  ex- 
pressions ;  the  flow  of  words  never  accidentally  be- 
comes rhythmical  from  the  loftiness  of  the  sentiment,  , 
as  in  Burke,  or  its  pathetic  sweetness,  as  in  Dickens. 
And  yet,  of  its  kind.  Swift's  style  is  unsurpassed. 
For  perspicuity,  directness,  and  freedom  from  invo- 
lution or  bombast,  it  is  a  model.  It  is  exactly  such 
a  style  as  is  desirable  for  the  man  of  affairs,  whose 
object  is  to  address  the  common  sense  of  mankind, 

9 


98  THE  WIT. 

and  to  be  equally  understood  by  tbe  cultivated  and 
the  vulgar.  Without  ornament,  and  just  raised  above 
the  colloquial  by  the  arrangement  of  words,  only  the 
worth  or  the  salient  points  of  the  thought,  lend  it  the 
least  attraction.  To  this  very  absence  of  elegance 
and  fervour  in  style,  may  be  ascribed  Swift's  popu- 
larity. Queen  Anne's  reign  has  been  called  the  age 
of  the  wits.  Prior  circumstances  rendered  that  period 
the  reverse  of  an  earnest  one.  Sentiment  was  at  a 
discount  and  sense  at  a  premium.  Social  follies  pre- 
vailed; party  feeling  ran  high.  Fanaticism  and 
debauchery  had  each  been  carried  to  extremes ;  and 
the  reaction  caused  strength  of  mind  and  clearness 
of  thought  to  be  admired.  Hence  Swift,  with  his 
vigour  of  statement,  his  universally  intelligible  lan- 
guage, and,  especially,  his  caustic  irony  and  stinging 
repartee,  was  the  very  writer  to  aflfect  a  public,  weary 
of  lackadaisical  versewrights  and  croaking  bigots,  and 
alike  distrustful  of  enervating  taste  and  morbid  en- 
thusiasm. 

Unfortunately  Swift  was  not  content  with  intel- 
lectual empire.  He  sought  and  keenly  enjoyed  a 
sway  over  hearts;  and  to  this  desire,  unnaturally 
aggravated  by  causes  already  suggested,  we  ascribe 
his  conduct  toward  Stella  and  Vanessa.  There  is 
not  a  trace  of  genuine  amatory  feeling  in  his  poems. 
Compare  his  love-verses  with  those  of  Petrarch,  Barry 
Cornwall,  Mrs.  Norton,,  or  any  other  sincere  votary 
of  the  tender  passion,  and  this  fact  will  be  apparent. 
Every  circumstance  related  of  his  intercourse  with 


SWIFT.  99 

the  unhappy  women  whose  affections  he  won,  his  own 
allusions  to  them  in  verse  and  prose,  and  their  actions 
and  expressions  with  reference  to  him,  indicate  that 
the  love  of  power  and  not  the  delights  of  mutual  love 
actuated  him.  He  sought  to  wind  himself,  as  it  were, 
into  their  souls,  to  become  a  moral  necessity,  to  call 
out  all  the  recognition  of  which  they  were  capable, 
to  be  the  motive  and  the  arbiter  of  their  inward  life, 
and  the  consciousness  of  having  attained  this  appears 
to  have  satisfied  him ;  while  they,  more  soulful  and 
human,  pined,  in  vain,  for  the  endearments,  the  entire 
confidence,  and  the  realized  sympathies  of  love.  It 
is  said  that  Richter  sought  intimate  association  with 
interesting  women  for  the  express  purpose  of  dis- 
covering materials  for  romantic  art.  Swift  did  the 
same  apparently  for  the  mere  gratification  of  self- 
love.  As  far  as  he  was  capable  of  passion  it  was 
intellectual,  spent  itself  in  words,  and  a  kind  of  phi- 
losophical dalliance  with  sentiment,  only  torturing  to 
its  objects.  Doubtless  he  liked  the  companionship 
of  both  Stella  and  Vanessa,  and  from  his  own  pecu- 
liar nature  could  but  feebly  understand  the  agonizing 
uncertainties  and  wearisome  suspense  to  which  his 
equivocal  behaviour  subjected  them ;  but  these  con- 
siderations are  quite  insufiicient  to  excuse  the  positive 
inhumanity  of  his  course.  That  his  view  of  love 
was  rather  metaphysical  than  natural — a  thing  more 
of  the  will  than  the  heart,  and  inspired  by  reflection 
instead  of  sentiment,  is  manifest  not  only  by  his  con- 


100  THE  WIT. 

duct  but  in  his  writings.     Thus  in  his  apostrophe  to 
Love  he  says^ 

In  all  I  wish,  how  happy  I  should  be, 
Thou  grand  Delader,  were  it  not  for  thee  ! 
So  weak  Ihou  art  that  fools  thy  power  despise, 
And  yet  so  strong  thou  triumph'st  o'er  the  wise  I 
Thy  nets  are  laid  with  such  peculiar  art, 
They  catch  the  cautious,  let  the  rash  depart ; 
Most  nets  are  filled  for  want  of  thought  and  care, 
But  too  much  thinking  brings  us  to  thy  snare. 

HoWj  by  his  wit  and  wisdom,  he  built  up  a  mental 
supremacy  and  thus  attached  to  himself  these  fresh 
and  devoted  hearts,  is  evident  in  the  case  of  Stella, 
by  the  fact  that  he  was  tl\e  preceptor  of  her  child- 
hood, and  the  exclusive  counsellor  of  her  mature 
years ;  while  Vanessa  says  of  him — 

When  men  began  to  call  me  fair, 

You  interposed  your  timely  care ; 

You  early  taught  me  to  despise 

The  ogling  of  a  coxcomb's  eyes, 

Showed  where  my  judgment  was  misplaced,. 

Refined  my  fancy  and  my  taste. 

It  will  not  do  to  gloss  over  the  inevitable  conse- 
quences of  obligations  like  these,  voluntarily  con- 
ferred upon  a  susceptible  and  candid  girl.  He  must 
have  instinctively  anticipated  her  confession. 

Your  lessons  found  the  weakest  part, 
Aimed  at  the  head  and  reached  the  heart. 


SWIFT.  101 

It  is  true,  in  the  celebrated  verses  descriptive  of 
this  unhappy  love,  he  says,  that  at  the  discovery,  he 

felt  within  him  rise 

Shame,  disappointment,  grief,  surprise. 

Yet,  with  heartless  egotism,  he  goes  on,  year  after 
year,  fostering  a  hopeless  attachment,  concealing 
from  one  his  relation  with  the  other,  until  forced  into 
a  nominal  marriage  with  Stella,  and  the  bitter  truth 
flashed  upon  the  wretched  Vanessa,  whom  he  leaves 
to  wrestle  alone  with  her  misery,  until  death  gives 
her  a  welcome  release  !  The  most  exacting  sentiment 
which  ever  inspired  a  man,  could  require  no  more 
complete  self-dedication  than  these  fair  beings  gave 
the  object  of  their  love.  Stella  existed  only  for 
him ;  and  an  humble  neighbour  of  Vanessa  describes 
her  as  passing  all  her  time  in  walking  in  the  garden, 
reading  and  writing,  and  never  seeming  happy  except 
during  the  visits  of  Swift.  Byron  in  one  of  his 
letters  says,  with  an  evident  and  characteristic  ap- 
preciation of  this  waste  of  feeling :  "  Swift,  when 
neither  young,  nor  handsome,  nor  rich,  nor  even 
amiable,  inspired  the  two  most  extraordinary  pas- 
sions upon  record,  Vanessa's  and  Stella's. 

Vanessa,  aged  scarce  a  score, 
Sighs  for  a  gown  of  forty. four. 

He  requited  them  bitterly ;  for  he  seems  to  have 
broken  the  heart  of  the  one  and  worn  out  that  of  the 

9* 


102  THE  WIT. 

other ;  and  he  had  his  reward,  for  he  died  a  solitary 
idiot  in  the  hands  of  servants. 

The  source  both  of  Swift's  errors  and  triumphs 
was  a  love  of  power.  We  are  convinced  that  this  is 
the  key  to  the  puzzle  which,  at  first,  seems  to  baffle 
inquiry  in  regard  to  his  anomalous  conduct.  There 
is  always  a  vindicatory  principle  at  work  in  life  and 
nature.  Where  any  element  is  thwarted  in  one  di- 
rection it  will  assert  itself  elsewhere ;  the  root  which 
nieets  a  rock,  gnarls  itself  upward  in  fibrous  convolu- 
tions ;  the  stream  impeded  in  its  onward  flow,  either 
gushes  into  a  fountain  or  expands  into  a  lake ;  the 
disappointed  bard  transforms  himself  into  a  ferocious 
critic,  and  the  unsuccessful  belle  turns  devotee.  Now, 
the  traits  of  humanity  were  incomplete  in  Swif^.  He 
possessed  acuteness  and  vigour  of  intellect,  strong  will, 
remarkable  wit  and  faculty  of  application,  but  he 
seems  to  have  been  destitute  of  passion.  It  was 
rarely,  therefore,  that  a  genial,  homogeneous  excite- 
ment wg^rmed  and  fused  his  nature.  Its  capabilities 
acted  separately.  He  wanted  the  susceptibility  and 
the  gentleness  that  come  from  an  organization  alive 
to  harmonious  sensations.  His  body  and  his  soul  did* 
not  thrill  with  the  same  conscious  existence.  Life 
was  consequently  objective  to  a  great  degree,  and  he 
sought  to  conquer  its  visible  obstacles  rather  than 
enrich  and  attune  its  elements  within.  He  lived  in 
a  sense  of  intellectual  action  inadequately  combined 
with  sentient  enjoyment.  What  nature  denied  him 
he  sought  through  mental  expedients  ;  and  his  relish 


SWIFT.  103 

of  existence  seems  to  have  consisted  in  operating 
upon  others — a  process  comparatively  indifferent  to 
those  who  are  vividly  sensible  of  enjoyable  resources. 
This  exclusive  love  of  power  is  often  the  heritage  of 
disappointment,— the  alternative  for  sympathy — the 
chief  resort  of  those  cut  off  by  asceticism,  disease, 
or  circumstances  from  any  source  of  natural  pleasure. 
We  see  it  in  women  unfavourably  constituted  or  un- 
genially  married,  in  the  deformed,  and  in  the  gifted 
but  low-born.  They  seem  to  desire  to  realize  every- 
thing through  will.  Their  great  demand  from  others 
is  subserviency,  and  they  manifest  the  greatest  im- 
patience at  the  least  nonconformity  with  their  ca- 
prices. Indeed  coalition  with  them  in  thought  and 
action  is  the  only  test  of  friendship  or  love,  for  the 
obvious  reason,  that  they  are  incapable  of  fully  expe- 
riencing the  delights  of  those  sentiments  which,  to 
such  as  are  more  naturally  constituted  or  situated, 
are  their  own-  exceeding  reward.  That  Swift  be- 
longed to  this  order  of  character,  is  evident  from 
every  page  of  his  biography  and  not  a  few  of  his 
writings.  He  was  never  satisfied  in  his  political  re- 
lations until  he  gained  a  personal  influence  with  his 
distinguished  allies.  He  desired  to  be  necessary  to 
them  as  a  companion  as  well  as  useful  to  their  cause 
as  a  writer.  He  managed  his  financial  interests  with 
precision  and  economy  from  a  very  clear  sense  of 
the  value  of  money  as  an  agent  of  power.  He  sent 
forth  his  tracts,  epigrams,  and  satirical  tales  anony- 
mously, not  heeding  reputation,  but  enjoying  keenly 


104  THE  WIT. 

the  secret  pleasure  of  impressing  himself  on  other 
minds  and  leading  public  opinion  by  his  will.  He 
had  a  fondness  for  patronage  on  the  same  principle, 
and  boasted  that  thirty  men  of  note  owed  their  ad- 
vancement to  his  personal  influence;  among  whom 
were  Parnell,  Berkeley,  Congreve,  Rowe,  and  Steele. 
The  same  disposition  is  apparent  in  his  training  of 
servants,  in  his  dictation  in  regard  to  the  household 
arrangements  of  families  he  visited,  in  the  oracular 
terms  with  which  he  pronounced  upon  literature  and 
character,  in  the  overbearing  conditions  he  proposed 
with  his  first  ofier  of  marriage,  in  the  ceaseless  exac- 
tions of  his  social  Kfe,  and  in  the  authoritative  tone 
of  his  conversation  and  writings.  To  be  admired, 
loved  or  feared,  he  demanded  from  all  but  dolts; 
and  he  did  this  without  any  consideration  as  to  his 
ability  to  reciprocate  the  more  sacred  feeling.  Those 
whom  he  failed  to  bully  or  lure  into  one  of  these 
sentiments,  were  thoroughly  obnoxious  to  him.  In  all 
this  we  see  the  arrogance  of  a  passionless  intellectu- 
ality, the  unhesitating  claim  of  pride,  the  domination 
of  a  will  unchecked  and  unsoftened  by  any  of  those 
noble  emotions  or  lapses  of  tender  feeling  and  earnest 
desire,  that  cause  a  glad  surrender  of  opinion  to  truth, 
of  individuality  to  assimilation,  of  self  to  a  thought 
or  being  more  dear, — yielding  a  joy  never  realized  by 
the  love  of  power,  even  when  its  most  detested  foes 
or  sweetest  victims  are  completely  in  its  repaorseless 
grasp. 


€^t  ^^ilantlitopiigi 


WILLIAM  ROSCOE. 


The  most  instructive  chapter  in  the  comprehen- 
sive records  of  philosophy,  is  example.     There  its 
principles  are  illustrated  in  action;  its  spirit  typified 
in. life.     By  this  agency  has  the  divine  Being  most 
perfectly  revealed  himself;  and  by  it,  in  the  moral 
economy  of  his  universe,  are  the  virtuous  energies  of 
humanity  continually  renewed.     The  happiest  inspi- 
'<3^    ration  of  which  society  is  the  source,  is  the  influence 
diffused  through  it,  in  various  attractive  forms,  by 
i*^^its   most    distinguished    members.  ^-^  Coleridge    has 
^,j?    beautifully,   and,  with  his  accustomed  significance, 
M    remarked,  that  "it  is  only  by  celestial  observations 
that  even  terrestial  charts  can  be  constructed  scien- 
i        tifically."}>i  To  gaze  steadfastly  at  the  intellectual 
and  moral  lights  of  the  world,  is  at  once  the  crite- 
rion and  pledge  of  our  own  advancement;  and  in 
that  constellation  there  are  for  all  of  us,  some  bright, 
particular  stars,  which,  on  account  of  their  proximity 
to  the  region  of  our  peculiar  circumstances  and  sym- 
pathies, should  be  most  earnestly  and  studiously  re- 
garded. ^  The  life  of  Roscoe  is  peculiarly  interesting 
in  this  country,  as  it  furnishes  the  example  of  one 


106  THE  PHILANTHROPIST. 

who  lived  and  died  the  active  denizen  of  a  commer- 
cial community  like  our  own ;  of  one  whose  native 
endowments  were  by  no  means  brilliant,  and  whose 
circumstances,  as  far  as  they  were  prosperous,  were 
created  by  himself ;  of  one  who,  thus  situated,  nobly 
won  and  modestly  wore  the  wreath  of  literary  honour, 
the  credit  of  self-denying  probity,  the  name  of  a  phi- 
lanthropist ;  and  who  accomplished  this  by  the  sim- 
ple but  sublime  energy  of  his  character. 

If  any  extrinsic  circumstances  could  augment  the 
satisfaction  with  which  we  shall  review  the  life  and 
comment  upon  the  character  before  us,  they  may  be 
found  in  the  fact  that  we  are  indebted  for  our  sources 
of  information  to  the  son  of  him  we  contemplate :  his 
memoir  is  an  offering  of  filial  respect  and  gratitude. 
And  notwithstanding  the  delicacy  of  the  duty,  it  has 
been  most  happily  performed. 

William  lloscoe  was  born  about  the  middle  of  the 
last  century  (1753),  at  Mount  Pleasant,  in,  or  near 
the  town  of  Liverpool.  His  parentage  was  humble, 
and  in  his  early  years,  blessed  with  maternal  fidelity, 
but  unmarked  by  any  indications  of  intellectual  pre- 
cocity, and  not  favoured  by  influences  superior  to  his 
condition.  His  own  memory  could  suggest  but  one 
or  two  characteristics  of  his  infant  days,  and  the 
most  prominent  of  these  were  a  deep  and  instinctive 
dislike  to  restraint,  and  a  fondness  for  solitary  ram- 
bling along  the  river,  of  his  native  town.  At  the  age 
of  twelve  years,  the  discipline  of  a  common  school 
education  was  exchanged  for  a  course  of  life  involv- 


WILLIAM  ROSCOE.  107 

ing  a  degree  of  physical  effort,  and  an  opportunity 
for  communion  with  nature,  the  genial  effects  of 
which,  upon  so  susceptible  a  being,  were  such  as  cir- 
cumstances of  more  apparent  advantage  might  have 
failed  in  producing.  Young  Roscoe  was  called  to 
assist  his  father  in  the  business  of  agriculture,  and 
the  sale  of  its  products ;  the  intervals  of  leisure 
which  occurred  during  these  employments,  were  de- 
voted to  reading.  Doubtless,  the  three  years  passed 
in  this  manner,  at  an  age  when  both  body  and  mind 
are  so  liable  to  receive  permanent  impressions  from 
slight  causes,  were  very  influential  in  giving  solidity 
to  his  constitution,  and  in  fitting  his  intellect  and 
feelings  for  that  maturity  of  action  which  so  happily 
followed.  "This  mode  of  life,"  says  he  in  a  letter 
to  a  friend,  "  gave  health  and  vigour  to  my  body, 
and  amusement  and  instruction  to  my  mind ;  and  to 
this  day,  I  well  remember  the  delicious  sleep  which 
succeeded  my  labours,  and  from  which  I  was  again 
called  at  an  early  hour.  If  I  were  now  asked  whom 
I  considered  to  be  the  happiest  of  the  human  race,  I 
should  answer,  those  who  cultivate  the  earth  by 
their  own  hands." 

At  fifteen,  when  called  upon  to  adopt  a  profession, 
that  of  a  bookseller  was  at  first  chosen,  and  even  en- 
tered upon ;  but  in  a  very  brief  period,  attendance 
upon  the  shop  proved  wearisome,  and  in  the  end  he 
was  articled  for  six  years  to  an  attorney.  The  duties 
of  his  clerkship  were  frequently  arduous,  or  at  least . 
engrossing,  and  they  possessed  continually  incre^^sing 


108  .      THE  PHILANTHROTIST. 

claims  in  his  view,  as  upon  the  future  success  in  the 
pursuit  he  had  chosen,  his  family  mainly  depended 
for  support.  Yet  from  these  labours  he  would  ever 
and  anon  turn  to  those  less  practical,  but  more  at- 
tractive subjects  of  attention,  which  cheered  the 
sterile  and  often  irksome  walks  of  duty,  and  turned 
the  springs  of  thought  to  finer  issues.  Shenstone 
became  successively  his  beloved  companion  and  ad- 
mired model,  till  the  author  of  the  Deserted  Village 
shared  the  empire  of  his  young  but  fervent  literary 
love.  A  few  but  choice  intimacies  were  formed ; 
these  gradually  ripened  into  friendships  which  seem 
to  have  been  singularly  productive  of  mutual  good. 
Under  their  -benign  incitement  and  cheering  com- 
panionship, Roscoe  studied  the  ancient  languages, 
and  was  induced  by  the  counsel  and  aid  of  one  pecu- 
liarly gifted  and  proportionally  beloved,  to  devote 
that  attention  to  the  Italian  language  and  literature 
which,  in  after  life,  was  the  foundation  of  his  literary 
success.  At  this  time  commenced  his  habitual  culti- 
vation of  poetry,  in  which  he  acquired  a  facility  and 
taste  that  neutralised  the  eflfect  of  severer  studies, 
and  imparted  a  cheerful  and  elevated  excitement  to 
his  whole  subsequent  existence.  Yet  with  all  these 
expanding  and  improving  tastes,  the  direct  business 
of  his  youthful  years  received  his  first  and  most 
faithful  care.  "It  is  true,''  he  remarks,  "the 
amusements  of  poetry,  and  the  incense  of  praise, 
constitute  of  themselves  some  degree  of  happiness, 
andy  it  may   be   said,  happiness   should   never  be 


WILLIAM  ROSGOE.  109 

slighted.  But,  alas,  I  am  a  traveller,  and  before  I 
intend  to  indulge  myself,  I  prc/pose  to  get  to  the  end 
of  my  journey.  If  every  beautiful  prospect  and 
every  shepherd's  pipe  must  allure  me  out  of  my  road, 
what  probability  is  there  that  I  shall  ever  find  my- 
self at  rest?" 

His  poetical  compositions,  written  before  the  age 
of  manhood,  indicate  the  benevolent  enterprises  to- 
ward which  the  ardent  energies  of  opening  life  tended, 
and  to  which  so  fair  a  portion  of  its  noon  and  even- 
ing were  devoted, — the  abolition  of  the  African  slave 
trade,  and  the  intellectual  elevation  of  his  countrymen. 
The  first  he  promoted  in  common  with  many  spirits 
of  inferior  philanthropy,  but  in  relation  to  the  second, 
he  evinced,  even  in  the  morning  of  life,  a  deep  and 
discerning  benevolence.  Then,  as  ever  after,  he 
recognised  the  necessity  of  an  element  that  should 
modify  the  influences  of  the  commercial  world,  and 
cherish  the  latent  sentiment  of  human  nature  among 
the  bustling  members  of  a  mercantile  community. 
That  he  was  well  aware  of  the  requisiteness  of  an 
agent  more  effectud;l  than  mere  taste  in  the  process 
of  improving  society,  that  he  owed  his  moral  growth 
and  the  power  and  purity  of  his  mental  efibrts  to  a 
deeper  principle,  is  not  alone  evidenced  by  the  gene- 
ral tone  of  his  life  and  recorded  views.  At  this  time, 
he  was  the  author  of  an  able  and  forcible  tract  upon 
religious  duty,  the  sentiments  of  which  were  directly 
deduced  from  the  teachings  of  Christianity. 

During  the  year  1774,  Mr.  Roscoe  commenced 
10 


*l-0  THE  PHILANTHROPIST. 

practice,  being  admitted  to  the  king's  bench.  His 
assiduity  and  conscientious  spirit  in  the  early,  and 
therefore,  most  anxious  stage  of  his  professional 
course,  is  most  interestingly  evinced  in  his  corre- 
spondence with  Miss  Jane  Griffies,  whose  destiny  it 
was  to  become  the  companion,  and  minister  to  the 
happiness  of  a  life,  which  derived  its  deepest  and 
most  constant  satisfaction  from  domestic  influences. 
These  letters  (which,  it  may  be  observed,  passed 
between  the  parties  while  residing  in  the  same  town, 
with  the  few  exceptions,  occasioned  by  the  tempo- 
rary absence  of  the  latter,)  breathe  a  most  confiding 
affection ;  but  it  is  an  affection  dignified  with  a  reli- 
gious and  intellectual  sentiment^  that  deepened, 
while  it  embalmed  it ;  it  was  a  love  evidenced  chiefly 
by  an  earnest  interest  in  the  legitimate  good  of  its 
object — ^^a  love  based  on  similarity  of  taste  and  sym- 
pathy of  purpose ;  a  love  which  inspired  only  to  im- 
prove. "I  cannot  help  pleasing  myself,"  says  Mr. 
R.  in  one  of  the  first  of  his  epistles,  "  with  the  reflec- 
tion, what  an  infinite  variety  of  subjects  this  inter- 
course will  give  rise  to.  Convinced  of  the  perfect 
confidence  that  exists  between  us,  how  freely  might 
our  thoughts  expand  themselves !  The  desire  of 
pleasing  might  cause  some  little  attention  to  the 
mode  of  expression,  whilst  the  certainty  of  mutual 
indulgence  would  prevent  us  from  being  apprehensive 
about  trivial  inaccuracies." 

The  first  incident  which  broke  in  upon  the  quiet 
routine  of  his  life,  after  his  marriage,  was  a  profes- 


WILLIAM  ROSCOE.  Ill 

sional  visit  to  London.  On  this  occasion,  he  expe- 
rienced, in  no  small  degree,  a  trial  which  seems  the 
nearest  conceivable  approach  to  the  situation  of  Tan- 
talus— that  of  being  surrounded  with  the  luxuries  of 
literature  and  art,  with  the  quiet  impulse  of  taste 
whetted  into  a  keen  appetite  by  their  alluring  pre- 
sence, while  the  want  of  means  condemns  it  to  re- 
main unsatisfied.  The  additions  to  his  library  and 
collection  of  prints,  were  made,  therefore,  very  gra- 
dually, and  the  extreme  conscientiousness  with  which 
he  indulged  so  innocent  a  taste,  must  have  greatly 
enhanced  their  value. 

The  introduction  of  some  original  sketches  into 
the  exhibitiou  of  a  Society  of  Art  in  Liverpool,  in 
1T84,  indicates  his  increasing  interest  in  its  practice; 
but  this  is  still  more  strongly  manifested  by  the 
sedulous  application  of  his  literary  powers  to  its  pro- 
motion. During  the  next  year  he  delivered  a  course 
of  lectures  on  the  subject,  and  by  means  of  a  poem 
on  the  Origin  of  Engraving,  and  several  valuable 
contributions  of  a  more  fugitive  character,  laboured 
to  propagate  correct  notions  of  the  principles  of  art, 
and  excite  an  interest  in  its  elevating  pursuits.  But, 
perhaps,  his  feelings  and  efibrts  in  regard  to  these 
objects,  are  most  happily  associated  with  that  ready 
appreciation  of  the  works  of  art,  in  all  their  variety, 
and  that  earnest  sympathy  with,  and  friendship  for 
professed  artists,  which  is  so  beautiful  a  feature  of 
his  life  and  character. 

Three  years  after,  however,  his  philanthropic  spirit 


1 12  THE  PHILANTHROPIST. 

was  engaged  in  an  enterprise  involving  results  of  a 
more  momentous  nature,  and*  demanding  no  small 
measure  of  perseverance  and  moral  courage.  Its 
success  involved  the  utter  annihiUtion  of  one  of  the 
most  lucrative  branches  of  the  commerce  of  Liver- 
pool ;  and  those  pledged  to  its  advancement,  were 
forced,  to  a  greater  or  less  extent,  to  come  forth  from 
the  retirement  of  private  life,  become  identified  with 
a  party,  and  engage  in  a  contest  calculated  to  excite 
strong  feelings  of  personal  and  political  animosity. 
These  circumstances  were  so  diametrically  opposed 
to  the  temper  and  taste  of  Mr.  Roscoe,  that  had  it 
been  a  cause  of  less  moral  importance,  he  might  have 
been  excused  for  transferring  the  responsibility  of  its 
defence  to  others.  But  intimately  allied  as  was  the 
issue  with  the  cause  of  humanity,  the  triumph  of 
Christianity,  and  the  character  of  his  native  land,  it 
appealed  to  the  highest  principles  of  his  nature ;  and 
with  him  such  an  appeal  was  never  in  vain.  In  the 
course  of  this  year,  therefore,  appeared  a  poem,  en- 
titled the  Wrongs  of  Africa — a  pamphlet  demonstrat- 
ing the  injustice  and  impolicy  of  a  traffic  in  her 
children  ;  and,  soon  after,  a  most  masterly  reply  to  a 
specious  attempt  to  prove  its  lawfulness  on  the  au- 
thority of  Scripture.  By  these  and  similar  writings, 
by  personal  intercourse  and  correspondence  with  Wil- 
berforce,  and  other  enlightened  friends  of  this  great 
cause^  and  especially  by  creating  a  just  public  senti- 
ment in  one  of  the  strongholds  of  the  trade,  Mr. 


WILLIAM  ROSCOE.  113 

Roscoe  contributed  largely  to  the  happy  result  with 
which  the  enterprise  was  eventually  crowned. 

It  cannot  be  supposed  that  the  progress  of  an  event 
which  riveted  the  attention  and  divided  the  opinions 
of  the  civilized  world,  failed  to  attract  the  anxious 
attention,  and  elicit  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  Ros- 
coe. Accordingly,  we  find  him,  at  the  opening  of  the 
French  Revolution,  acting  under  the  influence  of  that 
love  of  man,  and  that  faith  in  the  ultimate  supremacy 
of  his  higher  nature,  whence  only  springs  an  enlight- 
ened attachment  to  the  principles  of  freedom.  Of  all 
the  occasional  products  of  his  muse,  none  have  been 
more  popular  or  excellent  in  their  kind,  than  those 
induced  by  the  first  brilliant  stage  of  this  event.  Of 
his  intelligent  sympathy  and  conduct,  at  this  period, 
his  correspondence  and  public  course  furnish  the 
most  honourable  testimony.  In  his  case,  as  in  that 
of  many  others,  it  was  the  primary  means  of  drawing 
into  political  life  and  effort,  talents  and  sympathies, 
which,  but  for  so  exciting  an  occasion,  would  have 
been  devoted  exclusively  to  the  more  retired  interests 
of  literature.  But  it  was  not  his  case,  like  that  of 
many  of  his  contemporaries,  when  the  dark  era  of 
the  revolution  came  on,  to  lose  his  faith  in  the. 
blessedness  of  genuine  political  freedom.  He  discri- 
minated between  the  effects  of  a  long-sustained  state 
of  moral  degradation  upon  the  people,  and  the  legiti- 
mate spirit  of  genuine  political  independence.  Both 
he  believed  subject  to  the  eternal  laws  of  truth,  and 
therefore  deemed  it  as  unphilosophical  as  sinful,  to 

10* 


114  THE  PHILANTHROEIST. 

refer  the  recklessness  and  atrocity  of  a  debased  popu- 
lace, to  the  pure  and  generous  impulse  of  true  liberty. 

Attention  to  the  language  of  Italy,  to  which  Mr. 
Roscoe's  mind  was,  as  before  stated,  early  directed, 
soon  introduced  him  to  an  acquaintance  with  her 
standard  authors.  The  study  of  these,  during  the 
whole  period  we  have  cursorily  reviewed,  formed  one ' 
of  the  principal  sources  of  his  literary  recreation.  In 
perusing  the  historians,  particularly  Machiavelli  and 
Ammirato,  who  wrote  the  Florentine  annals,  his 
primitive  interest  in  the  character  of  Lorenzo  de 
Medici  was  strengthened,  and  his  long,  though  silent- 
ly cherished  purpose  of  writing  his  life,  confirmed. 
The  utility  of  such  a  work,  if  successfully  executed, 
none  could  better  understand  than  himself ;  yet, 
even  he  did  not  apparently  anticipate  the  numerous 
indirect  benefits  of  which  it  was  productive.  The 
numerous  historical  events  and  interesting  circum- 
stances, collateral  with  the  main  subject,  the  attract- 
ive form  in  w^hich  the  literature  and  associations  of 
Italy  were  brought  into  view,  in  the  course  of  the 
work,  and  the  important  epoch  in  the  world's  history 
embraced  in  the  period  to  which  it  referred,  all  tend- 
ed to  enhance  its  practical  worth,  and  the  gratifica- 
tion to  be  derived  from  its  perusal. 

The  chief  difficulty  in  the  way  of  his  design,  was 
the  want  of  adequate  materials.  Happily,  this  was 
removed,  by  the  aid  of  a  friend  in  Italy,  who  under- 
took to  forward  him  the  necessary  transcripts  from 
original  documents,  and  such  works  as  were  not  at- 


WILLIAM  ROSCOE.  115 

tainable  in  England,  while  the  sale  of  two  extensive 
libraries  furnished  him  with  yet  other  resources. 
Thus  furnished,  and  with  the  sympathy  of  many  indi- 
viduals of  high  literary  character,  as  well  as  that  of 
his  numerous  personal  friends  enlisted  in  the  enter- 
prise, he  commenced  and  assiduously  prosecuted  it  at 
intervals  of  leisure. 

Upon  the  publication  of  the  work,  in  1796,  its 
success,  in  every  respect,  was  complete.  For  the 
full  evidence  of  this,  we  must  again  refer  to  the  cor- 
respondence of  the  author,  introduced  so  largely  into 
the  history  of  his  life.  Seldom  do  labours  of  this 
nature  meet  with  such  a  degree  of  contemporary 
appreciation,  or  elicit  more  sincere  and  universal 
testimony  to  their  worth.  If  ever  an  author  had 
reason  to  feel  satisfied  with  the  result  of  his  efforts, 
as  regards  their  immediate  reception  by  the  literary 
public,  that  one  was  Roscoe.  If  he  did  not  altogether 
escape  the  critical  acumen  of  the  times,  he  lived  to 
improve  by  its  just  strictures,  and  to  lose  the  memory 
of  its  unjust  severity,  in  the  various  and  noble  tributes 
of  praise  and  gratitude  which  were  poured  in  upon 
him.  He  lived  to  see  his  own  portrait  of  his  favour- 
ite translated  into  several  of  the  modern  languages  of 
Europe,  to  amend  and  pass  it  through  the  press  to  ar 
perfect  edition,  and  to  behold  it,  like  a  radiant  mes- 
sage, bearing  his  name  through  many  lands,  and 
awakening  attention  to  those  sources  of  intellectual 
pleasure,  of  which  he  had  drank  so  deeply,  and 
whose  renovating  waters  he  would  fain  see  a  common 


116  THE  PHILANTHROPIST. 

well-spring  on  the  dusty  highway  of  life.  From  the 
individual  encomiums  passed  upon  Mr.  Roscoe,  on 
this  occasion,  it  is  difficult  to  select  one,  all  being, 
either  from  their  origin  or  character,  peculiarly 
pleasing.  We  cannot  but  notice,  however,  the  allu- 
sion to  the  subject  by  the  author  of  the  Pursuits  of 
Literature,  as  being  from  a  political  opponent,  and, 
consequently,  induced  solely  by  a  sense  of  the  intrin- 
sic excellence  of  the  work. 

"  But  hark  !  what  solemn  strains  from  Arno's  vales 
Breathe  rapture,  wafted  on  the  Tuscan  gales ! 
Lorenzo  rears  again  his  awful  head, 
And  feels  his  ancient  glories  round  him  spread ; 
The  Muses,  starting  from  their  trance,  revive, 
And  at  their  Roscoe's  bidding,  wake  and  live." 

From  what  has  now  been  said,  it  is  evident  that 
the  mere  business  of  his  profession  had  for  Mr.  Ros- 
coe  few  attractions.  He  was  engaged,  too,  in  com- 
pany with  another  gentleman,  in  a  project  which, 
soon  after  the  publication  of  his  work,  began  to 
assume  a  promising  aspect ;  this  was  the  draining  and 
cultivating  an  extensive  tract  of  peat-moss  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Manchester.  Looking,  in  a  good 
measure,  to  this  source  of  income  for  support,  and 
with  a  view  of  gradually  bringing  his  aflFairs  to  a 
close,  and  retiring  to  the  more  complete  enjoyment 
of  his  taste,  in  the  course  of  the  year  1796,  he  relin- 
quished his  profession.  How  singly  and  sincerely  he 
regarded  professional  occupation  as  a  means  subordi- 
nate to  a  great  end,  may  be  inferred  from  his  reply 


I 


WILLIAM  ROSCOE.  117 

to  a  friend  wlio  rallied  him  upon  his  withdrawing 
from  its  responsibilities.  There  is  something  pecu- 
liarly like  a  home-thrust  in  its  applicability  to  our- 
selves. "  Surely  man  is  the  most  foolish  of  all  ani- 
mals, and  civilized  man  the  most  foolish  of  all  men. 
Anticipation  is  his  curse ;  and  to  prevent  the  contin- 
gency of  evil,  he  makes  life  one  continual  evil. 
Health,  wisdom,  peace  of  mind,  conscience,  all  are 
sacrificed  to  the  absurd  purpose  of  helping  up  for  the 
use  of  life  more  than  life  can  employ,  under  the 
flimsy  pretext  of  providing  for  his  children,  till  prac- 
tice becomes  habit,  and  we  labour  on  till  we  are 
obliged  to  take  our  departure,  as  tired  of  this  world 
as  we  are  unprepared  for  the  rational  happiness  of 
the  next." 

He  now  resumed  his  Italian  reading,  and  this, 
with  the  study  of  Botany,  his  favourite  science,  a 
translation  of  the  Balia,  of  Luigi  Tansillo,  his  agency 
in  instituting  the  admirable  Athenseum  of  Liverpool, 
and  the  issuing  of  a  new  edition  of  Lorenzo,  with 
other  labours  of  a  desultory  nature,  occupied  his 
time  and  attention,  until  the  spring  of  1799.  And 
then  it  was,  in  pursuance  of  that  design  of  retire- 
ment so  congenial  to  his  nature,  and  so  promising  of 
intellectual  fruits,  that  he  became  the  possessor  of 
Allerton  Hall,  in  the  vicinity  of  Liverpool.  There 
he  at  once  renewed  his  literary  labours,  in  the  field 
where  his  recent  laurels  were  won.  In  preparing  the 
history  of  Leo  X.,  he  but  still  further  developed, 


118  THE  PHILANTHROPIST. 

under  additional  advantages,  the  subject  so  happily 
begun  in  the  life  of  Lorenzo. 

Scarcely  a  year  had  elapsed,  when  the  claims  of 
friendship  called  him  from  his  elegant  retreat  into  a 
scene  of  action  more  truly  business-like  in  its  nature, 
than  the  one  whence  he  had  lately  retired.  The 
family  of  that  friend  whose  exertions  abroad  had  so 
signally  aided  Mr.  Roscoe  in  obtaining  interesting 
and  necessary  historical  documents,  asked  his  coun- 
sel and  personal  us&istance  in  rearranging  the  aflfairs 
of  their  extensive  banking  establishment.  Circum- 
stances and  his  own  sense  of  duty,  in  the  end,  de- 
volved the  conduct  of  this  concern  chiefly  upon 
himself,  and,  in  a  great  measure,  identified  his  pecu- 
niary interests  with  its  success. 

The  next  social  and  benevolent  enterprise  in  which 
he  seems  to  have  engaged,  was  the  establishment  of 
a  botanical  garden  near  town.  And  his  pen  at  this 
time  was  extensively  devoted  to  the  advancement  of 
this  science,  in  testimony  of  which  several  interesting 
instances  occur  in  his  letters  and  communications  to 
botanical  societies. 

The  influence  of  Mr.  Roscoe  in  the  private  circles, 
and,  indeed,  through  the  whole  range  of  society 
around  him,  frequently  afforded  him  opportunities  of 
most  happily  directing  the  public  mind,  and  render- 
ed his  political  opinions  well  known.  This  was  a 
prominent  cause  of  his  activity  during  the  excitement 
in  relation  to  the  movements  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Channel,  to  which  we  have  briefly  alluded,  and  con- 


WILLIAM  ROSCOE.  119 

tributed,  at  the  approacli  of  an  important  political 
crisis  in  his  own  country,  to  direct  towards  him  the 
expectant  regards  of  his  townsmen.  In  1806,  he  was 
returned,  by  the  freemen  of  Liverpool,  as  a  represen- 
tative in  Parliament ;  and,  in  accordance  with  the 
sense  of  public  duty  which  characterized  his  life,  he 
obeyed  the  call,  and  carried  into  the  halls  of  legisla- 
tion the  highmindedness,  perseverance,  and  loyalty 
to  principle,  which  had  secured  him  the  suffrages  of 
his  constituents.  Here  he  enjoyed  the  high  satisfac- 
tion of  urging,  with  all  the  power  that  argument, 
appeal,  and  personal  influence  afforded,  the  passage 
of  the  bill  for  Catholic  Emancipation,  and  the  Aboli- 
tion of  the  Slave  Trade.  The  plan  of  a  Reform  in 
Parliament,  the  principles  of  which  he  subsequently 
most  ably  defended,  was  a  measure,  the  happy  fulfil- 
ment of  which  he  lived  to  witness.  During  the  next 
two  years,  though  not  officially  engaged,  he  was  much 
occupied  in  political  writing,  particularly  in  recom- 
mending peace  with  France. 

Soon  after  his  retirement  from  public  life,  he  ap- 
pears, from  additions  and  improvements  made  upon 
his  estate  for  the  better  accommodation  of  his  library 
and  collections,  as  well  as  from  the  literary  projects 
he  then  conceived,  to  have  meditated  a  yet  more 
complete  devotion  to  intellectual  labour.  The  most 
important  of  his  plans  were  a  life  of  Erasmus,  and 
several  translations  from  the  Italian,  of  high  interest. 
Subsequent  circumstances  induced  him  to  relinquish 
these  designs.     He,  however,  derived  much  pleasure, 


120  THE  PHILANTHROPIST. 

at  this  time,  from  collating  and  arranging  several 
additional  illustrations  of  his  biographies,  and  espe- 
cially from  a  visit  at  Holkham,  devoted  to  researches 
among  a  highly  valuable  collection  of  manuscripts 
and  rare  works,  belonging  to  his  friend,  Mr.  Coke, 
who  assigned  to  him  the  pleasing  task  of  rescuing 
them  from  the  disorder  into  which  they  were  plunged, 
and  reproducing  their  distinctive  characters. 

But  that  universal  principle,  vicissitude,  was  about 
to  bring  upon  Mr.  Roscoe  a  series  of  discipline  where- 
by his  moral  strength  was  destined  to  be  severely 
tested.  The  banking  concern  with  which  he  was  so 
intimately  connected,  owing  to  the  demands  of  the 
times  and  the  scarcity  of  specie,  produced  by  the 
opening  of  the  American  trade,  was  forced  to  suspend 
payment.  Mr.  Roscoe's  honourable  feelings  obliged 
him  to  assume  the  entire  care  of  the  interest  of  his 
creditors.  By  a  well-devised  plan  and  temporary 
compromise,  he  was  confident  of  being  able  to  dis- 
charge all  the  debts  in  the  space  of  six  years,  and 
still  sustain  the  establishment. 

Many  untoward  circumstances,  particularly  an 
unfortunate  investment  of  a  large  part  of  their 
funds,  rendered  the  prospect,  at  the  termination  of 
this  long  and  anxious  season  of  uncongenial  toil,  in- 
creasingly gloomy.  In  view  of  such  a  state  of 
things,  he  determined  upon  a  sacrifice  that  can  be 
duly  estimated  only  by  him  who  understands  that 
fellow-feeling  for  the  master  minds  of  our  race,  and 
the  forms  in  which  they  have  become  familiar,  which 


I 


WILLIAM  ROSCOE.  121 

springs  up  and  grows  strong  in  the  bosom  where  it 
is  habitually  cherished;  by  him  who  knows,  in  its 
full  measure,  the  happiness  of  collecting  about  him 
the  gems  of  literature  and  art,  connecting  them  with 
associations  of  feeling  and  circumstance,  gazing  upon 
them  as  upon  the  faces  of  friends,  and  into  them  as 
into  the  oracles  of  truth;  by  him,  in  a  word,  the 
idea  of  whose  usefulness,  honour,  and  daily  enjoy- 
ment is  associated  indissolubly,  in  his  own  mind, 
with  books  and  products  of  art,  not  in  their  general 
aspect,  but  as  they  have  been  gathered  by  the  slow 
accumulation  of  careful  expenditure,  and  become  en- 
deared by  years  of  blessed  and  ministering  com- 
panionship, in  his  own  cheerful  study.  Who  will 
deny  to  Mr.  Roscoe,  in  the  sacriiBce  of  his  library 
and  collections,  the  credit  of  exercising  a  degree 
of  lofty  principle  worthy  of  human  nature  ?  The 
general  character  of  that  library  may  be  inferred 
from  his  pursuits ;  and  its  value  from  the  catalogue, 
prepared,  with  minute  exactness,  by  his  own  hand, 
indicating  its  numerous  varieties  and  its  treasures. 
It  is  worthy  of  remark,  that  no  volume  or  print  was 
reserved,  but  such  as  were  the  sacred  tokens  of 
friendship  ;  and  although  a  few  of  his  friends  bought 
at  the  sale,  what  they  conceived  he  chiefly  wished  to 
retain,  he  would  derive  from  this  considerate  act  no 
other  advantage  than  the  liberty  of  repurchasing, 
and  when  this  was  actually  done,  his  conscientious- 
ness led  him  to  dispose  of  them  to  Mr.  Rathbone,  by 
whom  they  were  presented  to  the  Athenaeum,  where 

11 


122  THE  PHILANTHROPIST. 

they  still  occupy  a  separate  position.  We  cannot 
forbear  quoting  the  sonnet  suggested  by  this  event. 
Familiar  as  it  may  have  become,  it  is  and  will  ever 
be,  a  beautiful  evidence  of  the  not  undignified  regret 
of  the  literary  enthusiast  relieved  by  the  manly 
cheerfulness  of  the  intellectual  Christian. 

"  As  one  who  destined  from  his  friends  to  part, 
Regrets  his  loss,  yet  hopes  again  erewhile 
To  share  their  converse  and  enjoy  their  smile, 

And  tempers  as  he  may  affliction's  dart, — 

Thus,  loved  associates  !  chiefs  of  elder  art ! 
Teachers  of  wisdom  !  who  could  once  beguile 
My  tedious  hours,  and  lighten  every  toil, 

I  now  resign  you ;  nor  with  fainting  heart, — 
For,  pass  a  few  short  years,  or  days,  or  hours. 

And  happier  seasons  may  their  dawn  unfold, 

'And  all  your  sacred  fellowship  restore  ; 
When  freed  from  earth,  unlimited  its  powers. 
Mind  shall  with  mind  direct  communion  hold, 

And  kindred  spirits  meet  to  part  no  more." 

When,  therefore,  the  dreaded  bankruptcy  did  oc- 
cur, the  only  consolation  of  which  such  a  case 
admits,  was  happily  ever  present  to  alleviate  the 
sufferings  of  his  delicate  mind,^a  deep  sense  of  con- 
scientious integrity. 

Perhaps  the  most  general  principle  involved  in  the 
leading  interests  of  the  age,  is  the  principle  of  in- 
tegrity. It  is  this  which  lends  an  aspect  of  high 
moral  dignity  to  the  pursuits  in  which  the  multitude 
of  our  day  are  engaged.  In  England  and  this  country, 
commercial  enterprise  being  the  predominant  object 
of  pursuit,  uncompromising  integrity  is  the  virtue, 


WILLIAM  ROSCOE.  123 

for  the  exercise  of  which  there  is  especial  and  often 
grand  occasion.  And  while  public  opinion  has  been 
on  the  advance  respecting  the  legal  course  proper  to 
be  pursued  in  relation  to  bankruptcy,  the  want  of  a 
high  moral  tone  in  regard  to  this  subject  is  lamenta- 
bly obvious.  Were  it  not  so,  failures,  which  have 
bereft  hundreds  of  half  their  just  dues,  and  left  the 
author  of  their  suffering  independent,  would  not  be 
regarded,  as  they  now  are,  with  any  degree  of  com- 
placency; nor  would  an  individual  of  this  sadly 
numerous  species,  be  allowed  daily  to  parade  himself 
or  the  tokens  of  his  pecuniary  superiority  before  the 
eyes  of  his  abused  and  remediless  creditor.  In  view 
of  such  considerations,  enforced  as  they  must  be  by 
the  experience  and  reflection  of  every  individual,  it 
is  refreshing  to  mark  and  appreciate  the  simple  inte- 
grity of  William  Roscoe. 

And  now  the  cares  of  active  life  were  wellnigh 
ended ;  the  partner  of  his  days  had  gone  before  to 
her  rest,  and  his  feet  were  treading  the  declivity  of 
life.  He  had  put  the  finishing  touch  to  an  edition 
of  Pope's  works,  and  the  Holkham  catalogue  was 
completed ;  what  remained,  then,  for  one  who  had 
so  well  sustained  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day, 
but  that  he  should  dedicate  its  close  to  recreative 
employment  and  repose  ?  With  his  diminished  re- 
sources, increased  by  the  grateful  contributions  of 
friendship,  he  accordingly  released  himself  from  all 
bustling  or  laborious  employments,  and  passed  inta 
retirement.     Here  he  prepared  for  the  press  a  final 


Iil4  THE  PHILANTHROPIST. 

edition  of  Lorenzo,  and  a  work  of  long  standing, 
upon  Monandrian  plants — efforts  which  equal  the 
most  vigorous  of  an  earlier  period.  And  although 
with  these  his  literary  labours  may  be  said  to  have 
closed,  his  intellectual  and  moral  activity  was  beau- 
tifully exerted  until  another  world  became  the  scene 
of  its  ceaseless  exercise.  The  lovely  flowers  with 
which  he  had  bestrewn  the  pathway  of  his  being, 
were  bright  and  fragrant  to  the  last.  Literally  may 
it  be  said  of  them,  as  has  been  significantly  said  in 
another  connexion — that  they  smiled  up  to  him  as 
children  to  the  face  of  a  father.  The  perception  of 
physical  beauty,  the  intelligent  love  of  nature,  the 
philanthropic  spirit,  the  literary  taste,  which  were 
the  day-stars  of  his  youth,  continued  their  ministry 
in  age ;  and  the  holier  presence  of  domestic  sympa- 
thies, of  well-founded  friendships,  of  blessed  remem- 
brances, was  blending  its  cheerful  influence  with  the 
deeper  and  more  inspiring  spirit  of  religion.  How 
applicable  to  a  life  so  happily  passed,  and  so  peace- 
fully closed,  are  the  well-remembered  lines  of  our 
favourite  poet : 

"  That  life  was  happy :  every  day  he  gave 
Thanks  for  the  fair  existence  that  was  his ; 

For  a  sick  fancy  made  him  not  her  slave, 
To  mock  him  with  her  phantom  miseries. 

No  chronic  tortures  rack'd  his  aged  limb, 

For  luxury  and  sloth  had  nourished  none  for  him. 

"  And  I  am  glad  that  he  has  lived  thus  long ; 
And  glad  that  he  has  gone  to  his  reward  ; 


WILLIAM  ROSCOE.  125 

Nor  deem  that  kindly  nature  did  him  wrong, 

Softly  to  disengage  the  vital  chord ; 
When  his  weak  hand  grew  palsied,  and  his  eye 
Dark  with  the  mists  of  age,  it  was  his  time  to  die." 

We  have  spoken  of  the  character  of  William  Ros- 
coe  as  a  highly  valuable  example,  and  we  have  seen 
how  little  it  is  indebted  to  extraordinary  occasions 
for  its  manifestation ;  it  is  as  interesting  to  observe 
that  it  owes  as  little  to  any  singular  endowment  or 
unnatural  endeavour  for  its  intrinsic  worth.  To  the 
legitimate  culture  and  exercise  of  the  natural  emo- 
tions and  best  impulses  of  the  soul,  we  cannot  but 
ascribe  all  that  is  good  or  beautiful  in  its  aspect. 
That  process  of  induration,  so  proverbially  general, 
never  bronzed  the  sensibilities  of  Roscoe ;  the  dew 
of  nature  was  not  suffered  wholly  to  evaporate  in  the 
heated  atmosphere  of  worldly  strife,  nor  to  congeal 
in  the  frigid  air  of  an  artificial  existence.  That 
quality,  so  deep  and  morally  auspicious — susceptibi- 
lity-^ the  sharpness,  of  the  mental  appetites,  the 
yearning  of  vigorous  energies  for  free  play  and 
felicitous  exercise,  the  fervid  heat  of  the  coals  upon 
the  soul's  altar,  which  a  little  musing  sufficeth  to 
kindle  —  susceptibility — this  he  ever  possessed,  or 
rather  never  lost,  or  the  richly  freighted  influences 
of  improvement  would  have  passed  by  him  as  the 
idle  wind. 

We  confess  ourselves  disposed  to  attribute  no  in- 
considerable importance  to  this  view  of  our  subject. 
If   improving   agencies   are   dispensed   as   liberally 

11* 


126  THE  PHILANTHROPIST. 

through  the  intellectual  and  moral  universe,  as  the 
elements  of  physical  nature,  and  are  designed  to 
minister  to  something  beyond  themselves,  to  develope 
mind,  they  constitute  the  common  birthright  of  hu- 
manity. Like  the  air  and  light,  thev  freely  and 
equally  occupy  space,  ranging  the  wide  expanse  on 
the  broad  wings  of  universal  love,  and  restrained  in 
their  holy  mission  by  nought  but  human  perversity. 
And  is  not  the  essential  condition  by  which  alone 
their  rich  benefits  can  be  experienced,  susceptibility  ? 
The  piercing  beams  of  the  sun  bear  no  images  of 
beauty  to  the  closed  eye,  and  the  evening  breeze 
wafts  no  refreshment  to  the  brow  unbared  to  its 
breath.  What  wonder,  then,  if  nature  and  Provi- 
dence sometimes  fail  to  awaken  the  spirit  steeled  by 
indifierence  or  shrouded  in  self?  In  the  life  and 
character  of  Roscoe,  we  see  nurtured,  with  a  beautiful 
and  holy  care, — 

"  Those  first  affections, 

Those  shadowy  recollections, 

Which,  be  they  what  they  may, 
Are  yet  the  fountain  light  of  all  our  day, 
Are  yet  a  master  light  of  all  our  seeing ; 

Uphold  us, — cherish, — and  have  power  to  make 
Our  noisy  years  seem  moments  in  the  being 
Of  the  eternal  Silence;  truths  that  wake 

To  perish  never; 
Which  neither  listlessness  nor  mad  endeavour. 

Nor  man  nor  boy. 
Nor  all  that  is  at  enmity  with  joy. 

Can  utterly  abolish  or  destroy."* 

*  The  noble  ode  of  Wordsworth,  from   which  these   lines  are 


WILLIAM  ROSCOE.  127 

The  most  remarkable  peculiarity  in  the  character 
of  Roscoe,  is  its  rare  combination  of  active  with  quiet 
virtues;  of  reflective  with  practical  excellence;  of 
refined  sentiment  and  thought,  with  perfect  simplicity 
of  manner  and  effort.  Its  distinguishing  good,  as  an 
example,  is  the  lesson  of  just  self-development  which 
it  so  pleasingly  unfolds.  Throughout  that  long  life 
of  more  than  eighty  years,  in  its  early  struggles, 
amid  its  honourable  fame,  and  during  the  various 
periods  of  literary,  political,  or  professional  activity, 
by  which  that  character  was  tried  and  formed,  we 
behold  the  native  supremacy  of  the  moral  nature  un- 
invaded.  And  it  is  impossible  not  to  recognise  in 
this  the  true  secret  of  Roscoe's  success,  the  source  of 
those  intellectual  and  social  results  which  have  hal- 
lowed his  memory,  the  means  and  the  method  by  the 
aid  of  which,  in  comparatively  ordinary  circumstances, 
and  with  comparatively  common  capacities,  he  iden- 
tified himself  with  all  the  leading  benevolent  enter- 
prises of  the  day,  rendered  valuable  contributions  to 
the  literature  of  his  native  country,  and  drew,  in 
broad  relief,  even  from  the  calm  tenor  and  narrow 
scene  of  his  life,  the  deathless  lineaments  of  an  har- 
moniously beautiful  character. 

And,  be  it  remembered,  that  this  active  and  equable 
spirit,  this  happy  balance  of  the  several  faculties  and 

taken,  was  recited  by  the  late  S.  T.  Coleridge,  to  Baron  Von  Hum- 
boldt, who  learned,  with  much  surprise,  that  it  was  the  work  of  a 
living  English  poet,  declaring  he  should  have  attributed  it  to  the  age 
of  Elizabeth. 


128  THE  PHILANTHROPIST. 

sentiments,  was  ever  calmly  and  prevailingly  opera- 
tive. We  feel  that  the  stripling,  who  mourned  over 
the  dying  agonies  of  the  bird  his  own  hand  had 
destroyed  on  the  banks  of  the  Mersey,  and  the  aged 
man  who  years  afterwards  stood  beside  a  bed  of 
lilies  in  his  little  garden,  and  compared  their  frailty 
with  his  own,  is  one  and  the  same  being.  In  oppo- 
sition to  a  very  popular  prejudice,  he  succeeded  in 
uniting  literature  and  business,  and  general  philan- 
thropy with  domestic  duty,  without  detriment  to 
either.  He  was  an  amateur  and  a  literary  man ;  but 
benevolent  sentiment  was  intimately  associated  with 
the  enjoyments  of  both.  While  carrying  on  a  corre- 
spondence which  connected  him  with  the  master 
spirits  of  the  age,  he  could  yet  be  sedulously  attentive 
to  the  interests  of  an  unfriended  artist ;  sympathizing 
in  the  magnanimous  character  of  a  cultivated  Elo- 
rentine  nobleman,  and  deeming  it  unappreciated,  he 
wrote  his  history.  How  constant,  too,  was  his  fidelity 
to  nature,  and  how  bountifully  did  she  reward  that 
allegiance  !  It  was  in  her  invigorating  embrace  that 
his  young  spirit  waxed  strong,  and,  freed  from  the 
baneful  excitements  of  modern  education,  it  knew  no 
precocious  development,  no  premature  decay.  The 
cares  of  business  could  not  supersede  an  habitual 
communion  with  her  influences,  nor  studious  zeal 
allure  him  from  obedience  to  her  laws.  He  possessed 
a  delightful  inheritance  in  the  kingdom  of  letters,^ 
and  ever  and  anon  retired  thither ;  but  the  field  of 
efibrt  assigned  him  by  the  Creator,  was  the  world ; 


WILLIAM  ROSCOE.  129 

he  mingled  in  its  strife,  and  shed  abroad  the  blessed- 
ness of  an  improving  activity.  Yet  beneath  the 
agitated  or  listless  tide  of  his-  common  existence, 
swelled  and  deepened  an  under  current  of  meditative 
being.  He  imbibed  the  nutritive  elements  of  spiritual 
life,  as  they  came  forth  with  the  solemnity  and  efful- 
gence of  the  starry  host,  from  the  deep  teachings  of 
experience, — burst  in  gladness,  as  tributary  streams, 
from  the  converse  of  intellectual  humanity ;  or  rose, 
like  the  sunlit  mists  of  the  ocean,  from  the  wide 
domain  of  nature, — sitting  meekly,  the  while,  at  the 
feet  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth. 

Such  is,  indeed,  one  of  those  beings  whom  no 
nation  can  appropriate ;  universality  characterized 
his  philanthropy,  and  now  that  the  "  natural  canoni- 
zation" of  death  has  hallowed  his  example,  it  is,  and 
should  be  regarded  as  a  common  blessing.  His 
countrymen  have  felt  most  nearly  its  holy  influence, 
and  among  them  will  for  ever  be  the  local  memorials 
of  his  glory.  Italy,  though  her  classic  ground  was 
never  pressed  by  his  pilgrim  feet,  recognises  in  his 
works  the  beautiful  evidences  of  a  deep,  philosophical 
interest  in  her  literature,  admiration  for  her  great 
men,  and  sympathy  in  her  woes.  And  to  us  there  is 
a  new  scene  of  meditative  enjoyment  in  our  father- 
land. Before  we  reach  the  sacred  precincts  of  West- 
minster, or  stroll  along  the  green  banks  of  the  Avon, 
we  shall  linger  with  respectful  and  moving  interest 
beside  the  monument  to  the  memory  of  William 
Roscoe,  in  the  churchyard  of  Liverpool. 


:.\ri/^t^' 


) 


t  Bumntijgi 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


In  adding  our  tribute  to  the  memory  of  Lamb,  we 
are  conscious  of  personal  associations  of  peculiar  and 
touching  interest.  We  recall  the  many  listless 
hours  he  has  beguiled ;  and  the  very  remembrance  of 
happy  moments  induced  by  his  quiet  humour,  and 
pleasing  reveries  inspired  by  his  quaint  descriptions 
and  inimitable  pathos,  is  refreshing  to  our  minds.  It 
is  difficult  to  realize  that  these  feelings  have  reference 
to  an  individual  whose  countenance  we  never  beheld, 
and  the  tones  of  whose  voice  never  fell  upon  our  ear. 
Frequent  and  noted  instances  there  are,  in  the  annals 
of  literature,  of  attempts,  on  the  part  of  authors,  to 
introduce  themselves  to  the  intimate  acquaintance 
of  their  readers.  In  portraying  their  own  charac- 
ters in  those  of  their  heroes,  in  imparting  the  his- 
tory of  their  lives  in  the  form  of  an  epic  poem,  a 
popular  novel,  or  through  the  more  direct  medium  of 
a  professed  autobiography,  writers  have  aimed  at  a 
striking  presentation  of  themselves.  The  success  of 
such  attempts  is,  in  general,  very  limited.  Like 
letters  of  introduction,  they,  indeed,  prove  passports 


CHARLES  LAMB.         .  131 

to  the  acquaintance,  but  not  necessarily  to  the  friend- 
ship of  those  to  whom  they  are  addressed.  At  best, 
they  ordinarily  afford  us  an  insight  into  the  mind  of 
the  author^  but  seldom  render  us  familiar  and  at 
home  with  the  man.  Charles  Lamb,  on  the  con- 
trary,— if  our  own  experience  does  not  deceive  us — 
has  brought  himself  singularly  near  those  who  have 
once  heartily  entered  into  the  spirit  of  his  lucubra- 
tions. We  seem  to  know  his  history,  as  if  it  were  that 
of  our  brother,  or  earliest  friend.  The  sadness  of  his 
"  objectless  holidays," — the  beautiful  fidelity  of  his 
first  love,  the  monotony  of  his  long  clerkship,  and  the 
strange  feeling  of  leisure  succeeding  its  renunciation, 
the  excitement  of  his  "first  play,"  the  zest  of  h'is 
reading,  the  musings  of  his  daily  walk,  and  the 
quietude  of  his  fireside,  appear  like  visions  of  actual 
memory.  His  image,  now  bent  over  a  huge  legerj  in 
a  dusky  counting-house,  and  now  threading  the 
thoroughfares  of  London,  with  an  air  of  abstraction, 
from  which  nothing  recalls  him  but  the  outstretched 
hand  of  a  little  sweep,  an  inviting  row  of  worm-eaten 
volumes  upon  an  old  book-stall,  or  the  gaunt  figure 
of  a  venerable  beggar ;  and  the  same  form  saunter- 
ing through  the  groves  about  Oxford  in  the  vacation 
solitude,  or  seated  in  a  little  back  study,  intent  upon 
an  antiquated  folio,  appear  like  actual  reminiscences 
rather  than  pictures  of  the  fancy.  The  face  of  his  old 
schoolmaster  is  as  some  familiar  physiognomy ;  and 
we  seem  to  have  known  Bridget  Elia  from  infancy, 
and  to  have  loved  her,  too,  notwithstanding  her  one 


132  THE  HUMORIST. 

"ugly  habit  of  reading  in  company."  Indeed  we 
can  compare  our  associations  of  Charles  Lamb  only 
to  those  which  would  naturally  attach  to  an  intimate 
neighbour  with  whom  we  had,  for  years,  cultivated 
habits  of  delightful  intercourse, — stepping  over  his 
threshold,  to  hold  sweet  commune,  whenever  weari- 
ness was  upon  our  spirits  and  we  desired  cheering  or 
amiable  companionship.  And  when  death*  actually 
justified  the  title  affixed  to  our  friend's  most  recent 
papers — which  we  had  fondly  regarded  merely  as  an 
additional  evidence  of  his  unique  method  of  dealing 
with  his  fellow-beings, — when  they  really  proved  the 
last  essays  of  Elia,  we  could  unaffectedly  apply  to 
him  the  touching  language  with  which  an  admired 
poet  has  hallowed  the  memory  of  a  brother  bard : — 

"  Green  be  the  turf  above  thee, 
Friend  of  ray  better  days, 
None  knew  thee,  but  to  love  thee, 
Nor  named  thee,  but  to  praise." 

And  were  it  only  for  the  peculiar  species  of  fame 
which  Lamb's  contributions  to  the  light  literature  of 
his  country  have  obtained  him, — were  it  only  for  the 
valuable  lesson  involved  in  this  tributary  heritage, — 
in  the  method  by  which  it  was  won, — in  the  example 
with  which  it  is  associated,  there  would  remain  ample 
cause  for  congratulation  among  the  real  friends  of 
human  improvement ;  there  would  be  sufficient  reason 
to  remember,  gratefully  and  long,  the  gifted  and 
amiable  essayist.      Instead  of  the  feverish  passion 


CHARLES  LAMB.  138 

for  reputation,  which  renders  the  existence  of  the 
majority  of  professed  litterateurs  of  the  present  day, 
a  wearing  and  anxious  trial,  better  becoming  the  dust 
and  heat  of  the  arena  than  the  peaceful  shades  of 
the  academy|lt  calm  and  self-reposing  spirit  pervades"^ 
and  characterizes  the  writings  of  Lamb.  They  are 
obviously  the  offspring  of  thoughtful  leisure;  they 
are  redolent  of  the  otiiim  ;  and  in  this  consists  their 
peculiar  charm.  We  are  disposed  to  value  this  cha- 
racteristic highly,  at  a  time  which  abounds,  as  does 
our  age,  with  a  profusion  of  forced  and  elaborate 
writings.  It  is  truly  delightful  to  encounter  a  work, 
however  limited  in  design  and  unpretending  in  execu- 
tion, which  revives  the  legitimate  idea  of  literature, 
— ^which  makes  us  feel  that  it  is  as  essentially  sponta-  f^ 
neous  as  the  process  of  vegetation,  and  is  only  true 
to  its  source  and  its  object,  when  instinct  with  fresh-; 
ness  and  freedom.  No  mind  restlessly  urged  by  a 
morbid  appetite  for  literary  fame,  or  disciplined  to  a 
mechanical  development  of  thought,  could  have  origi- 
nated the  attractive  essays  we  are  considering.  They 
indicate  quite  a  different  parentage.  A  lovely  spirit 
of  contentment,  a  steadfast  determination  towards  a 
generous  culture  of  the  soul,  breathes  through  these 
mental  emanations.  Imaginative  enjoyment, — the 
boon  with  which  the  Creator  has  permitted  man  to 
meliorate  the  trying  circumstances  of  his  lot,  is  evi- 
dently the  great  recreation  of  the  author,  and  to  this 
he  would  introduce  his  readers.  It  is  interesting  to 
feel,  that  among  the  many  accomplished  men,  whom 

12 


134  THE  HUMORIST. 

necessity  or  ambition  incline  to  the  pursuit  of  litera- 
turCj  there  are  those  who  find  the  time  and  possess 
the  will  to  do  something  like  justice  to  their  own 
minds.  Literary  biography  is  little  else  than  a  his- 
tory of  martyrdoms.  We  often  rise  from  the  perusal 
of  a  great  man's  life,  whose  sphere  was  the  field  of 
letters,  with  diminished  faith  in  the  good  he  success- 
fully pursued.  The  story  of  disappointed  hopes, 
ruined  health,  a  life  in  no  small  degree  isolated  from 
social  pleasure  and  the  incitements  which  nature 
afi'ords,  can  scarcely  be  relieved  of  its  melancholy 
aspect  by  the  simple  record  of  literary  success.  Ear- 
nestly as  we  honour  the  principle  of  self-devotion, 
our  sympathy  with  beings  of  a  strong  intellectual 
and  imaginative  bias  is  too  great  not  to  awaken, 
above  every  other  .consideration,  a  desire  for  the  self- 
possession  and  native  exhibition  of  such  a  heaven- 
implanted  tendency.  We  cannot  but  wish  that  na- 
tures thus  endowed  should  be  true  to  themselves. 
We  feel  that,  in  this  way,  they  will  eventually  prove 
most  useful  to  the  world.  And  yet  one  of  the  rarest 
results  which  such  men  arrive  at,  is  self-satisfaction 
in  the  course  they  pursue — we  do  not  mean  as  re- 
gards the  success,  but  the  direction  of  their  labours. 
Sir  James  Mackintosh  continually  lamented,  in  his 
diary,  the  failure  of  his  splendid  intentions, — consoled 
himself  with  the  idea  of  additional  enterprises,  and 
finally  died  without  completing  his  history.  Cole- 
ridge has  left  only,  in  a  fragmentary  and  scattered 
form,  the  philosophical  system  he  proposed  to  deve- 


CHARLES  LAMB.  135 

lope.  Both  these  remarkable  men  passed  intellectual 
lives,  and  evolved,  in  conversation  and  fugitive  pro- 
ductions, fruits  which  are  worthy  of  a  perennial 
existence ;  yet  they  fell  so  far  short  of  their  aims, 
they  realized  so  little  of  what  they  conceived,  that 
an  impression  the  most  painful  remains  upon  the 
mind  that,  with  due  susceptibility,  contemplates  their 
career.  We  find,  therefore,  an  especial  gratification^ 
in  turning  from  such  instances,  to  a  far  humbler  one 
indeed, — but  still  to  a  man  of  genius,  who  richly 
enjoyed  his  pleasant  and  sequestered  inheritance  in 
the  kingdom  of  letters,  and  whose  comparatively  few 
productions  bear  indubitable  testimony  to  a  mind  at 
ease, — a  felicitous  expansion  of  feeling, — an  imagina- 
tive and  yet  contented  life.  It  is  as  illustrative  of; 
this,  that  the  essays  of  Elia  are  mainly  valuable. 

In  our  view,  the  form  of  these  writings  is  a  great 
recommendation.     We  confess  a  partiality  for   the  ■ 
essay.     In  the  literature  of  our  vernacular  tongue,  it  j 
shines  conspicuous,  and  is  environed  with  the  most  ■ 
pleasing  associations.    To  the  early  English  essayists 
is  due  the  honour  of  the  first  and  most  successful 
endeavours  to  refine  the  language  and  manners  of 
their  country.     The  essays  of  Dr.  Johnson,  Gold- 
smith, Addison,  and  Steele,  while  they  answered  a 
most    important   immediate  purpose,  still  serve   as 
instructive  disquisitions  and  excellent  illustrations  of 
style.       The  essay  is  to  prose  literature  what  the 
sonnet  is  to  poetry  ;  and  as  the  narrow  limits  of  the 
latter  have  enclosed  some  of  the  most  beautiful  poetic 


y 


136  THE  HUMORIST.       , 

imageryj  and  finished  expressions  of  sentiment  within 
the  compass  of  versified  writing,  so  many  of  the  most 
chaste  specimens  of  elegant  periods,  and  of  animated 
and  embellished  writing,  exist  in  the  form  of  essays. 
The  lively  pen  of  Montaigne,  the  splendid  rhetoric  of 
Burke,  and  the  vigorous  argument  of  John  Foster, 
have  found  equal  scope  in  essay- writing :  and  among 
the  various  species  of  composition  at  present  in  vogue, 
how  few  can  compare  with  this  in  general  adaptation. 
Descriptive  sketches  and  personal  traits,  speculative 
suggestions  and  logical  deductions,  the  force  of  direct 
appeal,  the  various  power  of  illustration,  allusion  and 
comment,  are  equally  available  to  the  essayist.  His 
essay  may  be  a  lay-sermon  or  a  satire,  a  criticism  or 
a  reverie.  "  Of  the  words  of  men,''  says  Lord  Bacon, 
'Hhere  is  nothing  more  sound  and  excellent  than  are 
letters;  for  they. are  more  natural  than  orations  and 
more  advised  than  sudden  conferences."  Essays 
combine  the  qualities  here  ascribed  to  epistolary  com- 
position; indeed,  they  may  justly  be  regarded  as 
letters  addressed  to  the  public ;  embodying — in  the 
delightful  style  which  characterizes  the  private  cor- 
respondence of  cultivated  friends — -views  and  details 
of  universal  interest. 

There  is  more  reason  to  regret  the  decline  of  essay- 
writing,  from  the  fact,  that  the  forms  of  composition 
now  in  vogue,  are  so  inferior  to  it  both  in  intrinsic 
excellence  and  as  vehicles  of  thought.  There  is, 
indeed,  a  class  of  writers  whose  object  is,  professedly 
and  solely  to  amuse ;  or  if  a  higher  purpose  enter 


CHARLES  LAMB.  137 

into  their  design,  it  does  not  extend  beyond  the  con- 
veyance of  particular  historical  information.  But 
the  majority  of  prominent  authors  cherish,  as  their 
great  end,  the  inculcation  of  certain  principles  of 
action,  theories  of  life,  or  views  of  humanity.  We 
may  trace,  in  the  works  of  the  most  justly  admired 
writers  of  our  own  day,  a  favourite  sentiment  or  the- 
ory pervading,  more  or  less,  the  structure  of  their 
several  volumes,  and  constantly  presenting  itself 
under  various  aspects,  and  in  points  of  startling  con- 
trast or  thrilling  impression.  We  honour  the  delibe- 
rate and  faithful  presentation  of  a  theory,  on  the 
part  of  literary  men,  when  they  deem  it  essential  to 
the  welfare  of  their  race.  Loyalty  to  such  an  object 
bespeaks  them  worthy  of  their  high  vocation ;  and 
we  doubt  if  an  author  can  be  permanently  useful  to 
his  fellow-beings  and  true  to  himself,  without  such  a 
light  to  guide,  and  such  an  aim  to  inspire.  Dogma- 
tical  attachment  to  mere  opinion  is  doubtless  opposed 
to  true  progression  in  thought ;  but  fidelity  in  the 
development  and  vivid  portraiture  of  a  sentiment 
knit  into  the  well-being  of  man,  and  coincident  with 
his  destiny,  is  among  the  most  obvious  of  literary 
obligations.  Something  of  chivalric  interest  is  at- 
tached to  "  Sidney's  Defence  of  Poesy;''  the  anxiety 
for  the  reform  of  conventional  customs  and  modes  of 
thinking  in  society,  so  constantly  evinced  in  the 
pages  of  the  Spectator,  commands  our  sympathy  and 
respect ;  and  we  think  the  candid  objector  to  Words- 
worth's view  of  his  divine  art,  cannot  but  honour  the 

12* 

i 


f 


138  THE  HUMORIST. 

steadiness  with  which  he  has  adhered  to,  and  unfolded 
it.  Admitting,  then,  the  dignity  of  such  literary 
ends, — the  manner  in  which  they  can  be  most  effec- 
tually accomplished,  must  often  be  a  subject  of 
serious  consideration. 

It  is  generally  taken  for  granted,  that  the  public 
will  give  ear  to  no  teacher  who  cannot  adroitly  prac- 
tise the  expedient  so  beautifully  illustrated  by  Tasso, 
in  the  simile  of  the  chalice  of  medicine  with  a  honeyed 
rim.  True  as  it  is,  that  in  an  age  surfeited  with 
books  of  every  description,  there  exists  a  kind  of 
necessity  for  setting  decoys  afloat  upon  the  stream  of 
literature— is  not  the  faith  in  literary  lures  altogether 
too  perfect?  Does  the  mental  ofi'spring  we  have 
cherished,  obtain  the  kind  of  attention  we  desire, 
when  ushered  into  the  world  arrayed  in  the  garb  of 
fiction  ?  The  experim.ent,  we  acknowledge,  succeeds 
in  one  respect.  The  inviting  dress  will  attract  the 
eyes  of  the  multitude  ;  but  how  few  will  penetrate  to 
the  theory,  appreciate  the  moral,  or  enter  into  the 
thoughts  to  which  the  fanciful  costume  is  only  the 
drapery  and  framework  ?  The  truth  is,  the  very 
object  of  writers  who  would  present  a  philosophical 
problem  through,  the  medium  of  a  novel,  is  barely 
recognised.  Corinne  is  still  regarded  as  a  romance 
sui  generis.  Several  efibrts  of  the  kind,  on  the  part 
of  living  British  writers  of  acknowledged  power,  seem 
to  have  utterly  failed  of  their  purpose,  as  far  as  the 
mass  of  readers,  whom  they  were  especially  intended 
to  affect,  are  concerned.    The  plan  in  such  instances. 


^  |T       y  CHARLES  LAMB.  139 

is  Strictly  psychological.  Public  attention,  however, 
is  at  once  riveted  on  the  plot  and  details ;  and  some 
Strong  delineation  of  human  passion,  some  trivial 
error  in  the  external  sketching,  some  over  intense  or 
^too  minute  personation  of  feeling,  suffices  to  condemn 
the  work  in  the  view— we  do  not  say  how  justly — 
even  of  the  discriminating.  Now  we  are  confident, 
that  should  the  writers  in  question  choose  the  essay 
as  a  vehicle  of  communication,  their  success  in  many 
cases  would  be  more  complete.  Their  ideas  of  life, 
of  a  foreign  land,  of  modern  society,  or  of  human 
destiny,  presented  in  this  shape,  with  the  graces  of 
style,  the  attraction  of  anecdote,  and  the  vivacity  of 
wit  and  feeling,  could  not  but  find  their  way  to  the 
only  class  of  readers  who  will  ever  estimate  such 
labours — -those  who  read  to  excite  thought,  as  well  as 
beguile  time  ;  to  gratify  an  intellectual  taste  as  well 
as  amuse  an  ardent  fancy.  The  novel,  too,  is  in  its 
very  nature  ephemeral.  The  very  origin  of  the  word 
associates  such  productions  with  the  gazettes  and 
magazines — the  temporary  caskets  of  literature.  And 
with  the  exception  of  Scott's,  and  a  few  admirable 
historical  romances,  novels  seem  among  the  most 
frail  of  literary  tabernacles.  Now,  in  reference  to 
the  class  of  authors  to  whom  we  have  alluded,  those 
who  have  a  definite  and  important  point  in  view,  who 
are  enthusiastic  in  behalf  of  a  particular  moral  or 
mental  enterprise,  the  evanescent  nature  of  the  popu- 
lar vehicle  is  an  important  consideration.  We  would 
behold  a  more  permanent  personification  of  their  sys- 
tems, a  more  lasting  testimony  of  their  interest  in 


140  *  THE  HUMORIST. 

humanity.  And  such  we  consider  the  essay.  When 
presented,  condensed,  and  embellished  in  this  more 
primitive  form,  a  fair  opportunity  will  be  afforded  for 
the  C9-ndid  examination  of  their  sentiments ;  and  we 
are  persuaded  that  these  very  ideas,  thus  arranged 
and  disseminated,  will  possess  a  weight  and  an  inte- 
rest which  they  pan  never  exhibit  when  displayed  in 
the  elaborate  and  desultory  manner  incident  to  popu- 
lar fiction.  An  interesting  illustration  of  these  re- 
marks may  be  found  in  the  circumstance  that  many 
intelligent  men,  who  are  quite  inimical  to  Bulwer,  as 
a  novelist,  have  become  interested  in  his  mind  by  the 
perusal  of  "England  and  the  English,''  and  "The 
Student"— works  which  are  essentially  specimens  of 
e^say-writing.  The  dramatic  form  of  composition 
has  recently  been  adopted  in  England,  to  subserve 
the  theoretical  purposes  of  authors.  This,  it  must 
be  confessed,  is  a  decided  improvement  upon  the 
more  fashionable  method ;  and  the  favour  with  which 
it  has  been  received,  is  sufficiently  indicative  of  the 
readiness  of  the  public  to  become  familiar  with  nobler 
models  of  literature. 

We  are  under  no  slight  obligations  to  Charles 
Lamb,  for  so  pleasantly  reviving  a  favourite  form  of 
English  composition.  We  welcome  Elia  as  the 
Si^ecidiiov-redwivus.  It  is  interesting  to  be  amused 
and  instructed  after  the  manner  of  that  delectable 
coterie  of  lay-preachers,  humorists,  and  critics,  of 
which  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  was  so  distinguished  a 
member.  It  is  peculiarly  agreeable  to  be  talked  to  in 
a  book,  as  if  the  writer  addressed  himself  to  us  par- 


CHARLES  LAMB.  141 

ticularly.     Next  to  a  long  epistle  from  an  entertain- 
ing friend,  we  love,  of  all  things  in  the  world,  a 

j  charming   essay ;  —  a   concise   array   of    ideas  •— aT 

'  unique  sketch,  which  furnishes  subjects  for  an  hour's 
reflection,  or  gives  rise  to  a  succession  of  soothing^/ 
day-dreams.  Few  books  are  more  truly  useful  than 
such  as  can  be  relished  in  the  brief  intervals  of 
active  or  social  life,  which  permit  immediate  appre- 
ciation, and,  taken  up  when  and  where  they  may  be, 
present  topics  upon  which  the  attention  can  at  once 
fix  itself,  and  trains  of  speculation  into  which  the 
mind  easily  glides.  To  such  a  work  we  suppose  a^ 
celebrated  writer  alludes,  in  the  phrase  "  parlour 
window-seat  book."  Collections  of  essays  are  essen- 
tially of  this  order.  We  would  not  be  understood, 
however,  as  intimating  that  this  kind  of  literature  is 
especially  unworthy  of  studious  regard;- — Bacon's 
Essays  alone  would  refute  such  an  idea ;  but  from 
its  conciseness  and  singleness  of  aim,  the  essay  may 
be  enjoyed  in  a  brief  period,  and  when  the  mind  is 

..unable  to  attach  itself  to  more  elaborate  reading. 
J^""  fQV  volume  of  essays  subserves  the  purpose  of  a  set  of 

'  cabinet  pictures,  or  a  portfolio  of  miniature  draw- 
ings ;  they  are  the  multum  in  parvo  of  literature ; 
and,  perused,  as  they  generally  are,  in  moments  of 
respite  from  ordinary  occupation,  turned  to  on  the 
spur  of  mental  appetite,  they  not  unfrequently  prove 
more  eflScient  than  belles-lettres  allurements  of 
greater  pretension.  It  is  seldom  that  any  desira- 
ble additions  are  made  in  this  important  department 


J 


142  THE  HUMORIST. 

1  of  writing  ;  and  among  the  contributions  of  tHe  pre- 
\  sent  age,  the  essays  of  Elia  will  deservedly  hold  an 
L  elevated  rank. 

Much  of  the  interest  awakened  by  these  papers, 
has  been  ascribed  to  the   peculiar   phraseology  in 
which  they  are  couched.  Doubtless,  this  characteristic 
has  had  its  influence  ;  but  we  think  an  undue  impor- 
tance has  been  given  it,  and  we  feel  ihat  the  true 
zest  of  Elia's  manner  is  as  spontaneous  as  his  ideas, 
and  the  shape  in  which  they  naturally  present  them- 
selves.    If  we  analyze  his  mode  of  expression,  we 
shall  find  its  charm  consists  not  a  little  in  the  expert 
\  variation  rather  than  in  a  constant  maintenance  of 
style.     He  understood  the  proper  time  and  place  to 
introduce  an  illustration ;  he  knew  when  to  serve  up 
^     \;    o^ie  of  his  unequalled  strokes  of  humour,  and  when 
y^    \   to  change  the  speculative  for  the  descriptive  mood. 
He  had  a  happy  way  of  blending  anecdote  and  por- 
traiture ;   he  makes  you  see  the  place,  person,  or 
thing,  upon  which  he  is  dwelling ;  and,  at  the  mo- 
ment your  interest  is  excited,  presents  an  incident, 
and   then,  while  you   are  all  attention,  imparts   a 
moral,  or  lures  you  into  a  theorizing  vein.     He  per- 
sonifies his  subject,  too,  at  the  appropriate  moment ; 
nor  idealizes,  after  the  manner  of  many  essayists, 
before  the  reader  sympathizes  at  all  with  the  real 
picture.     Lamb's  diction  breathes  the  spirit  of  his 
favourite  school.     He  need  not  have  told  us  of  his 
partiality  for  the  old  English  writers.   Every  page  of 
Elia  bears  witness  to  his  frequent  and  fond  commu- 


CHARLES  LAMB.  143 

nion  with  the  rich  ancient  models  of  British  litera- 
ture.     Yet  the  coincidence  is,  in  no   degree,  that 
which  obtains  between  an  original  and  a  copyist. 
The  tinge  which  Lamb's  language  has  caught  from 
intimacy  with  the  quaint  folios  he  so  sincerely  ad- 
mired, is  a  reflected  hue,  like  that  which  suffuses  the 
arch  of  clouds  far  above  the  setting  sun ;  denoting 
only  the  delightful  influence  radiated  upon  the  mind 
which  loves  to  dwell  devotedly  upon  what  is  disap- 
pearing, and  turns  with  a  kind  of  religious  interest, 
from  the  new-born  luminaries  which  the  multitude 
worship,  to  hover  gratefully  round  the  shrine  of  the 
past.     If  any  modern  lover  of  letters  deserved  a 
heritage  in  the  sacred  garden  of  old  English  litera- 
ture, that  one  was  Charles  Lamb.     Not  only  did  he 
possess  the  right  which  faithful  husbandry  yields, 
but  his  disposition  and  taste  rendered  him  a  com- 
panion meet  for  the  noble  spirits  that  have  immor- 
talized the  age  of  Elizabeth.     In  truth,  he  may  be 
said   to   have   been   on   more    familiar   terms   with 
Shakspeare,  than  with  the  most  intimate  of  his  co- 
temporaries  ;  and  it  may  be  questioned  whether  the 
Religio  Medici,  that  truly  individual  creed,  had  a 
more  devout  admirer  in  its  originator,  than  was  Elia. 
He  assures  us  that  he  was  "  shy  of  facing  the  pro- 
spective," and   no   antiquarian  cherished  a  deeper 
reverence  for  old  china,  or  the  black  letter.     Most 
honestly,  therefore,  came  our  author  by  that  charm- 
ing relish  of  olden  time,  which  sometimes  induces  in 
our  minds,  as  we  read  his  lucubrations,  a  lurking 


144  THE  HUMORIST. 

doubt  whether,   by  some   mischancOj  we  have   not 
fallen  upon  an  old  author  in  a  modern  dress. 

There  is  another  feature  in  the  style  of  these 
essays,  to  which  we  are  disposed  to  assign  no  incon- 
siderable influence.  We  allude  to  a  certain  confes- 
sional tone,  that  is  peculiarly  attractive.  There  is 
something  exceedingly  gratifying  to  the  generality 
of  readers  in  personalities.  On  the  same  principle 
that  we  are  well  pleased  to  become  the  confidant  of 
a  friend,  and  open  our  breasts  to  receive  the  secret 
of  his  inmost  experience,  we  readily  become  inte- 
rested in  a  writer  who  tells  us,  in  a  candid,  naive 
manner,  the  story  not  merely  of  his  life,  in  the  com- 
mon acceptation  of  the  term,  but  of  his  private 
opinions,  humours,  eccentric  tastes,  and  personal 
antipathies.  A  tone  of  this  kind,  is  remarkably 
characteristic  of  Lamb.  And  yet  there  is  in  it 
nothing  egotistical;  for  we  may  say  of  him  as  has 
been  said  of  his  illustrious  schoolfellow,  whom  he  so 
significantly,  and,  as  it  were,  prophetically  called, 
"the  inspired  charity  boy  ;" — that,  "in  him  the  in- 
dividual is  always  merged  in  the  abstract  and  gene- 
ral." Writers  have  not  been  slow  to  avail  them- 
selves of  the  advantage  of  thus  occasionally  and  inci- 
dentally presenting  glimpses  of  their  private  notions 
and  sentiments ;  indeed,  this  has  been  called  the  age 
of  confessions ;  but  with  Elia,  they  are  so  delicately 
and  yet  so  familiarly  imparted,  that  they  become  a 
secret  charm  inwrought  through  the  whole  tissue  of 
what  he  denominates  his  "  weaved  up  follies."  There 


CHARLES  LAMB.  145 

are  passages  scattered  through,  this  volume,  which 
exemplify  the  very  perfection  of  our  language. 
There  are  successive  periods,  so  adroitly  adapted  to 
the  sentiment  they  embody,  so  easy  and  expressive, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  so  unembellished,  that  they 
suggest  a  new  idea  of  the  capabilities  of  our  verna- 
cular. There  are  words,  too,  at  which  we  should 
pause,  if  they  were  indited  by  another,  to  institute  a 
grave  inquiry  into  their  legitimacy,  or,  perchance,, 
prefer  against  their  author  the  charge  of  senseless 
ajBfectation.  But  with  what  we  know  of  Elia,  in 
catching  ourselves  at  such  a  process,  we  could  not 
but  waive  the  ceremony,  and  say  of  it  as  he  has  said 
of  parting  with  a  genial  dainty, — "it  argues  an 
insensibility.'' 

Another  striking  trait  of  the  Essays  of  Elia,  is  the 
familiarity  of  their  style.  In  this  respect  they  fre- 
quently combine  the  freedom  of  oral  with  the  more 
deliberative  spirit  of  epistolary  expression.  We  have 
already  alluded  to  one  effect  of  this  method  of  ad- 
dress; it  annihilates  the  distance  between  the  reader 
and  author,  and,  so  to  speak,  brings  them  face  to 
face.  Facility  in  this  kind  of  writing,  is  one  of  the 
principal  elements  in  what  is  called  magazine  talent. 
It  consists  in  maintaining  a  conversational  tone  while 
discussing  a. topic  of  great  interest  in  a  humorous 
way,  or  making  a  light  one  the  nucleus  for  spirited, 
amusing,  or  instructive  ideas.  The  dearth  of  this 
popular  tact  in  this  country,  and  its  fertility  in  Eng- 
land, are  well  known.     We  think  the  discrepance, 

13 


146  THE  HUMORIST. 

can  be  accounted  for  by  reference  to  the  essential 
difference  in  the  social  habits  of  the  two  countries. 
The  literary  clubs  are  the  nurseries  of  this  attractive 
talent  in  Great  Britain.  The  custom  of  convening 
for  intellectual  recreation,  favours  the  growth  of  a 
ready  expression  of  thought,  and  of  a  direct  and 
inviting  flow  of  language.  Writers  are  habituated 
to  an  attractive  style,  by  being  trained  in  a  school 
of  conversation.  Intimate  connexion  with  the  best 
minds,  not  only  informs  and  kindles,  but  induces 
vivacity  of  delivery  both  in  Speech  and  writing.  We 
can  conceive,  for  instance,  of  no  inspiration  even  to 
the  colloquial  powers  of  an  intelligent  man,  like  direct 
communion  with  such  an  individual  as  Mackintosh ; 
and  we  can  find  no  cause  for  wonder,  that  one  blessed 
with  the  companionship  of  the  literati  of  London  and 
Edinburgh,  should  acquire  the  powef  of  talking  on 
paper  in  a  delightful  and  finished  manner.  Such 
society  afibrds,  if  we  may  be  allowed  the  expression, 
a  kind  of  intellectual  gymnasium,  where  the  art  of 
interesting  with  the  pen  may  be,  and  naturally  is, 
acquired  by  such  as  are  endowed  with  native  wit,  and 
reflective  or  graphic  ability.  With  us  the  case  is  so 
widely  difierent,  the  opportunities  for  general  and 
exciting  association  so  rare,  that  it  is  no  matter  of 
surprise  that  magazine  talent,  as  it  is  termed,  should 
be  of  slow  growth.  How  far  Charles  Lamb  was  in- 
debted to  his  sociar  privileges  for  his  style,  we  are 
not  prepared  to  say.  Yet  there  are  numerous  indi- 
cations of  the  happy  influence  of  which  we  speak. 


CHARLES  LAMB.  147 

interspersed  through  his  commentaries  on  men  and 
things.  We  refer,  of  course,  altogether  to  the  style ; 
for  as  to  the  ideas,  they  are  entirely  his  own,  bear- 
ing the  genuine  stamp  of  originality.  It  seems  essen- 
tial to  an  efficient  literature,  that  those  interested  in 
its  culture  should  be  brought  into  frequent  contact 
with  each  other,  and  with  general  society.  A  poet 
who  would  evolve  representations  of  humanity  in 
abstract  forms,  who  would  present  models  beyond 
and  above  his  age,  may  indeed  find,  in  the  shades  of 
retirement,  greater  scope,  and  a  less  disturbed  scene 
wherein  to  rear  his  imaginary  fabric ;  and  the  philo- 
sopher whose  aim  is  the  application  of  truth  to  history, 
or  the  delineation  of  some  important  principle  in 
science  or  art,  doubtless  requires  comparative  soli- 
tude. The  position  of  both  is  contemplative.  The 
fancy  of  the  one  would  plume  itself  for  flight,  and 
the  eyry  of  the  noblest  birds  is  always  among  unin- 
vaded  haunts ;  the  reflection  of  the  other  would  grap- 
ple with  the  abstract,  and  the  most  intense  elemental 
strife  of  nature  is  ever  amid  her  lofty  cloud-retreats, 
or  solitary  depths.  But  the  writer  who  would  be- 
guile, amuse,  or  teach  his  cotemporaries  by  some 
winning  literary  device,  who  would  accomplish  all 
these  objects  at  once,  and  "  do  it  quickly,"  must  mix 
with  his  fellow-creatures,  and  make  a  study  of  the 
passers-by.  He  must  hold  familiar  intercourse  wdth 
the  ruling  school ;  not  to  adopt  their  principles,  but 
to  become  disciplined  by  their  conversation ;  and  he 
should  note  the  multitude  warily,  in  order  to  discover 


148  THE  HUMORIST. 

both  the  way  and  the  means  of  affecting  them.  The 
legitimate  essayist  has  need  of  a  rich  vocabulary,  and 
a  flexible  manner ;  a  quick  perception,  and  a  candid 
address.  And  these  equipments,  if  not  obtainable, 
are  at  least  improvable,  by  social  aids.  Conver- 
sation, were  it  not  utterly  misunderstood  and  per- 
verted, might  prove  a  mighty  agent  in  the  culture  of 
the  noblest  of  human  powers,  and  the  sweetest  of 
human  graces.  There  was  a  beautiful  fidelity  to 
nature  in  the  habits  of  the  philosophers  of  the  Garden. 
There  are  few  pictures  so  delightful  in  ancient  history, 
as  the  noble  figure  of  a  Grecian  sage  moving  through 
a  rural  resort,  or  beneath  a  spacious  portico,  imparting 
to  his  youthful  companion  lessons  6i  wisdom,  or 
curbing  his  own  advanced  mind  to  pioneer  that  of  his 
less  mature  auditor  through  the  early  mazes  of  mental 
experience.  The  teeming  presence  of  nature  and  art 
in  all  their  variety  and  eloquence,  the  appeal  to 
sympathy,  lurking  in  the  very  tones  of  wisdom,  the 
mere  inspiration  of  human  presence,  combine  to  create 
an  impression  infinitely  more  vivid  than  lonely  glean- 
ings among  written  lore  could  awaken.  We  are  slow 
to  comprehend  the  capabilities  of  conversation,  or  we 
should  cultivate  it  sedulously,  and  with  a  deeper  faith. 
The  single  effect  which  we  have  noticed  in  relation 
to  English  literature,  is  of  itself  no  inconsiderable 
argument.  If  to  social  culture  we  may  in  a  great 
degree  ascribe  the  exuberance  of  talent  for  periodical 
literature  on  the  other  side  of  the  water,  there  is 
surely  no  small  inducement  to  elevate  and  quicken 


CHARLES  LAMB.  149 

the  conversational  spirit  of  our  country ;  for  -what- 
ever rank  be  assigned  to  this  form  of  writing,  its 
history  sufficiently  attests  the  great  influence  it  is 
capable  of  exerting,  and  the  important  purposes  it 
may  subserve.  Elia,  we  think,  gives  very  satisfactory 
indications  of  his  origin.  Without  the  local  allusions 
and  constant  references  to  native  authors,  there  is 
something  about  him  which  smacks  of  London.  In- 
dividual as  Lamb  is,  he  is  not  devoid  of  national 
characteristics ;  and  a  reader,  well  aware  of  the  com- 
posite influences  operative  upon  men  of  letters  who 
hail  from  the  British  metropolis,  will  readily  discover, 
though  not  informed  of  the  fact,  that  Elia  was  blessed 
with  a  score  of  honourable  friends,  who  have  con- 
tributed to  the  literary  fame  of  Great  Britain. 

Lamb  is  not  singular  in  his  attachment  to  minutiae ; 
it  is  characteristic  of  the  literature  of  the  day.  In 
former  times,  writers  dealt  in  the  general ;  now  they 
are  devoted  to  the  particular.  In  almost  every  book 
of  travels  and  work  of  fiction,  we  are  entertained,  or 
rather  the  attempt  is  made  to  entertain  us,  with 
exceedingly  detailed  descriptions  of  the  features  of  a 
landscape,  the  grouping  in  a  picture,  or  the  several 
parts  of  a  fashionable  dress.  By  such  wearisome 
nomenclature,  it  is  expected  that  an  adequate  concep- 
tion will  be  imparted,  when,  in  many  cases,  a  single 
phrase,  revealing  the  impression  made  by  these  ob- 
jects, would  convey  more  than  a  hundred  such  inven- 
tories. Lamb,  by  virtue  of  his  nice  perception,  ren- 
ders details  more  efiective  than  we  should  imagine 

13* 


150  ,  THE  HUMORIST. 

was  practicable.  In  a  single  line,  we  have  the  pecu- 
liarities of  a  person  presented ;  and  by  a  brief  men- 
tion of  the  gait,  demeanour,  or  perhaps  a  single 
habit,  the  ceremony  of  introduction  is  over ;  we  not 
only  stand  and  look  in  the  direction  we  are  desired, 
but  we  see  the  object,  be  it  an  old  bencher,  or  a 
grinning  chimney-sweep,  an  ancient  courtyard,  or  a 
Quaker  meeting,  a  roast  pig,  or  an  old  actor,  Cap- 
.tain  Jackson,  or  a  poor  wretch  in  the  pillory,  con- 
soling himself  by  fanciful  soliloquies.  We  have  com- 
pared essays,  in  their  general  uses,  to  a  set  of  cabinet 
pictures.  Elia's  are  peculiarly  susceptible  of  the 
illustration.  They  are  the  more  valuable,  inasmuch 
as  something  of  the  mellow  hue  of  old  paintings 
broods  over  them  ;  here  and  there  a  touch  of  beauti- 
ful sadness,  that  reminds  us  of  Raphael ;  now  a  line 
of  penciling  overflowing  with  nature,  which  brings 
some  favourite  Flemish  scene  to  mind ;  and  again,  a 
certain  softness  and  delicate  finish  that  whisper  of 
Claude  Lorraine. 

There  are  two  points  in  which  Charles  Lamb  was 
eminent,  where  tolerable  success  is  rare :  these  are 
pathos  and  humour.  He  understood  how  to  deal  with 
the  sense  of  the  humorous  and  pathetic.  He  seems  to 
have  been  intuitively  learned  in  the  secret  and  delicate 
nature  of  these  attributes  of  the  mind ;  or  rather,  it 
would  appear  that  his  own  nature,  in  these  respects, 
furnished  a  happy  criterion  by  which  to  address  the 
same  feelings  in  others.  We  cannot  analyze,  how- 
ever casually,  the  humour  and  pathos  of  Elia,  without 


CHARLES  LAMB.  151 

perceiving  that  they  are  based  on  a  discerning,  and, 
if  the  expression  may  be  allowed,  a  sentimental  fellow- 
feeling  for  his  kind.  So  ready  and  true  was  this 
feeling,  that  we  find  him  entering,  with  the  greatest 
facility,  into  the  experience  of  human  beings  whom 
the  mass  of  society  scarcely  recognise  as  such.  He 
talks  about  a  little  chimney-sweep,  an  aged  mendi- 
cant, or  an  old  actor,  as  if  he  had,  in  his  own  person, 
given  proof  of  the  doctrine  to  which  his  ancient 
friend.  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  inclined,  and  actually, 
by  a  kind  of  metempsychosis,  experienced  these  seve- 
ral conditions  of  life.  His  pathos  and  humour  are, 
for  the  most  part,  descriptive ;  he  appeals  to  us,  in 
an  artist-like  and  dramatic  way,  by  pictures  ;  we  are 
not  wearied  with  any  preparatory  and  worked-up 
process  ;  we  are  not  led  to  anticipate  the  efiect;  but 
our  associations  are  skilfully  awakened;  an  impression 
is  unostentatiously  conveyed,  and  a  smile  or  tear  first 
leads  us  to  inquire  into  the  nature  of  the  spell.  •  It 
is  as  though,  in  riding  along  a  sequestered  road,  we 
should  suddenly  pass  a  beautiful  avenue,  and  catch  a 
glimpse  of  a  garden,  a  statue,  an  old  castle,  or  some 
object  far  down  its  green  vista,  so  interesting  that  a 
reminiscence,  an  anticipation,  or,  perchance,  a  specu- 
lative reverie,  is  thereby  at  once  awakened.  Endea- 
vours to  touch  the  feelings  or  excite  quiet  mirth  fail, 
generally,  because  the  design  is  too  obvious,  or  a 
strain  of  exaggeration  is  indulged  in,  fatal  to  the  end 
in  view.  Frequently,  too,  the  call  upon  our  mirthful 
or  compassionate  propensities  is  too  direct  and  strong. 


152  TliE  HUMORIST. 

These  feelings  are  not  seldom  appealed  to,  as  if  they 
were  passions,  and  to  be  excited  by  passionate  means. 
Indignation,  enthusiasm,  and  all  powerful  impulses, 
are  doubtless  to  be  roused  by  fervent  appeals ;  but 
readers  are  best  allured  into  a  laugh,  and  it  is  by 
gentle  encroachments  upon  its  empire,  that  the  heart 
is  best  moved  to  sympathy.  In  drawing  his  pictures, 
Lamb  indulged  not  in  caricature.  It  is  his  truth,  not 
less  than  his  quaintness  and  minute  touches,  that 
entertains  and  aflfects  us.  He  avoids,  too,  the  vulgar 
modes  of  illustration.  Not  by  descriptions  of  phy- 
siognomy or  costume,  does  he  excite  our  risible  ten- 
dencies, nor  thinks  he  to  win  our  pity  by  over-drawn 
statements  of  the  insignia  and  privations  of  poverty. 
Elia  is  no  poor  metaphysician.  He  comprehends  the 
delicacy  of  touch  required  in  the  limner  who  would 
impressively  delineate,  even  in  a  quaint  style,  any 
element  or  form  of  humanity.  By  what  would  almost 
seem  a  casual  suggestion,  we  often  have  a  conception 
imparted  worth  scores  of  wire-drawn  exemplifications. 
Well  aAvare  was  our  essayist  that  a  single  leaf  whirled 
by  the  breeze  of  accident  upon  the  soul's  clear  foun- 
tain, would  awaken  successive  undulations  of  thought; 
he  was  versed  in  the  philosophy  of  association ;  he 
possessed  the  susceptibility  of  an  affectionate  nature, 
and  that  fine  sense  of  the  appropriate  which  is  one 
of  the  most  valuable  of  our  insights,  and  accordingly, 
he  caused  his  inimitable  shades  of  humour  and  pathos 
<'  to  faintly  mingle,  yet  distinctly  rise."  He  wishes 
us  to  realize  the  sufferings  of  poor  children,  and,  by 


CHARLES  LAMB.  153 

briefly  indicating  the  mere  tenor  of  their  street-talk, 
causes  our  hearts  to  melt  at  the  piteous  accents  of 
care^  from  lips  so  young.  He  would  vindicate  thq^t 
excellent  precept  in  the  counsel  of  old  Polonius, — 
"Neither  a  borrower  nor  a  lender  be  ;"  and  draws 
such  a  full-length  portrait  of  the  former  character, 
that  when  one  of  the  species  has  once  inspected  it,  he 
can  never  again  lay  the  flattering  unction  of  self- 
ignorance  to  his  heart.  He  reprimands  book-stealers 
by  describing  his  own  impoverished  shelves,  and 
points  out  the  blessings  of  existence,  by  quaintly  dis- 
cussing the  deprivations  attendant  on  its  loss.  The 
anniversaries  of  time  pass  not  by  without  their  seve- 
rar  merits  being  canvassed  by  his  pen ;  and  although 
he  tells  us  little  that  is  absolutely  new,  he  holds  the 
light  of  his  pleasant  humour  up  to  the  faces  of  these 
annual  visitants,  and  thenceforth  their  features  pos- 
sess greater  reality  and  are  more  easily  recognised. 
Not  a  little  of  Lamb's  humour  is  shadowed  forth  in 
the  subjects  of  his  essays.  Had  we  fallen  upon  such 
titles  in  the  index  of  any  other  anonymous  author, 
we  should  have  set  him  down  as  one  who,  in  strain- 
ing after  the  novel,  evidenced  a  morbid  taste ;  but 
there  is  nothing  more  characteristic  of  Elia,  than  the 
topics  he  selects.  •  They  are  as  legitimate  as  an  un- 
doubted signature.  Should  this  be  questioned,  let 
the  treatment  bestowed  upon  these  uninvestigated 
themes  be  examined.  They  will  prove  as  well  adapted 
to  their  author's  genius  as  the  Scottish  peasant's  life 
was  to  the  muse  of  Burns,  or  the  praise  of  Laura 


151  THE  HUMORIST, 

to  Petrarch.  Who  should  have  written  the  history 
of  England,  among  the  many  who  have  tried  their 
skill  in  that  illustrious  task,  may  be  a  matter  of 
doubt;  and  to  what  American  Scott  we  are  to  look 
for  a  series  of  romances  illustrative  of  our  history,  is 
yet  a  subject  of  speculation ;  but  no  man,  of  ordinary 
perception,  we  presume,  can  for  a  moment  question 
that  "  The  Melancholy  of  Tailors,^'— "  The  Charac^ . 
ter  of  an  Undertaker," — "  The  Praise  of  Chimney- 
sweepers,"— the  "Inconveniences  of  being  Hanged," 
and  sundry  kindred  subjects  were  reserved  for  the 
pen  of  Elia. 

That  writer  is  wise  who  avails  himself  of  a  some- 
what familiar  idea,  in  presenting  his  mental  creations 
to  the  public.  There  is  need  of  as  much  considera- 
tion in  bestowing  a  name  upon  an  essay  or  a  poem, 
which  we  wish  should  be  read,  as  in  naming  a  child 
whom  we  would  dedicate  to  fame.  The  same  reasons 
for  circumspection  obtain  in  both  cases.  The  more 
original  the  appellation,  provided  it  is  not  utterly- 
foreign  to  all  general  associations,  the  better.  But 
it  is  essential  that  there  should  be  something  which 
will  create  an  interest  at  a  glance.  Our  essayist  has 
been  happy  in  his  choice  of  subjects ;  his  wit  failed 
him  not  here.  Though  no  one  has  previously  written 
the  ''Praise  of  Chimney-sweepers,"  yet  ^very  one 
sees  the  dusky  urchins  daily,  and  would  fain  know 
wh^-t  can  be  said  in  their  behalf.  Most  people  have 
noticed  the  "  Melancholy  of  Tailors,"  and  are  glad  to 
find  that  some  one  has  undertaken  philosophically  to 


CHARLES  LAMB.  155 

explain  it.  The  headings  of  all  Elia's  papers  are 
exactly  such  as  would  beguile  us  into  reading  when 
we  desire  to  enter  the  region  of  quiet  thought,  and 
forget  our  cares  in  some  literary  paiStime.  There  is 
one  elemeixt  of  genius,  the  influence  of  which  we  have 
never  seen  acknowledged,  that  ever  impresses  our 
minds  in  reflecting  on  the  themes  to  which  gifted 
men  apply  themselves.  We  allude  to  a  certain 
daring  which  induces  them  to  grapple  with  topics, 
and  give  expression  to  thoughts,  which  many  have 
mused  upon  without  thinking  of  giving  them  utter- 
ance. There  is  much  of  Byron's  poetry  which  seems 
almost  like  a  literal  transcript  of  our  past  or  occa- 
sional emotions ;  the  more  powerful  and  acknowledged 
a  genius,  the  niore  fervently  do  we  declare  the  coin- 
cidence of  our  feelings  with  his  delineations.  Many 
odd  speculations  have  occurred  to  us  in  reference  to 
the  strange  subjects  to  which  Lamb  is  partial ;  we 
respond  to  most  of  his  portraitures,  and  sympathize 
in  the  feelings  he  avows.  His  humour  and  pathos, 
therefore,  are  true,  singularly,  beautifully  true,  to 
human  nature ;  in  this  consists  their  superiority. 
Many  have  aimed  at  the  same  results  in  a  similar 
way ;  but  the  genius-  of  Lamb,  in  this  department, 
has  achieved  no  ordinary  triumph. 

The  drama  was  a  rich  source  of  pleasure  and  re- 
flection to  Lamb.  During  a  life  passed  almost 
wholly  in  the  metropolis,  the  theatre  afibrded  him 
constant  recreation,  and  the  species  of  excitement 
his  peculiar  genius  required.     It  was  to  him  an  im- 


156  THE  HUMORIST. 

portant  element  in  the  imaginative  being  he  cherished. 
By  means  of  it,  he  continually  renewed  and  bright- 
ened the  rich  vein  of  sentiment  inherent  in  his  nature. 
To  him  it  addressed  language  rife  with  the  meaning 
which  characterized  its  ancient  voice, — full  of  sugges- 
tive and  impressive  eloquence.  Deeply  versed  in  the 
whole  range  of  dramatic  literature,  master  of  the  phi- 
losophy of  Shakspeare,  and  overflowing  with  a  highly 
cultivated  taste  for  the  dramatic  art,  the  drama  was 
ranked  by  Elia  among  the  redeeming  things  of  life. 
He  did  not  coldly  recognise,  but  deeply,  felt,  its  im- 
portance to  modern  society.  Surrounded  by  the 
bustle,  the  worldliness  and  the  material  agencies  of  a 
populous  capital,  he  daily  saw  man  struggling  on 
beneath  the  indurating  pressure  of  necessity,  or  pre- 
senting only  artificial  aspects, — and  to  the  strong 
and  true  representation  of  human  nature,  on  the 
stage  and  in  the  works  of  the  dramatist,  he  looked  as 
a  noble  means  of  renovation.  It  gratified  his  humane 
spirit,  that  the  poor  mechanic  should  lose,  for  an 
hour,  the  memory  of  his  toilsome  lot,  in  sympathy 
with  some  vivid  personation  of  that  love  which  once 
sent  a  glow  to  his  now  hollow  temples ;  that  the 
creature  of  fashion  and  pride  should,  occasionally,  be 
led  back  to  the  primal  fountains  of  existence  by  the 
hand  of  Thespis ;  that  an  unwonted  tear  should  some- 
times be  drawn,  like  a  pearl  from  the  deep,  to  the 
eye  of  some  fair  worldling,  at  the  mighty  appeal  of 
nature,  in  the  voice  of  an  affecting  portrayer  of  her 
truth.    Elia  had  faith  in  the  legitimate  drama,  as  the 


CHARLES  LAMR.  157 

native  offspring  of  the  human  mind,  significant  of  its 
successive  eras,  and  as  fitted  to  supply  one  of  its 
truest  and  deepest  wants ;  and  well  he  might  have 
had, — for  its  history  was  as  familiar  to  him  as  a 
household  tale ;  he  had  explored  its  chronicles  with 
the  assiduity  of  an  enthusiast,  and  the  acumen  of  a  vir- 
tuoso ;  he  had  garnered  up  its  gems  as  the  true  jewels 
of  his  country's  literature ;  he  honoured  its  worthy 
votaries  as  ministrants  at  the  altar  of  huttianity ; 
and,  above  all,  in  his  own  experience,  he  had  learned 
what  human  taste,  judgment,  and  feeling  may  derive 
from  the  wise  appropriation  of  dramatic  influences. 
He  knew,  as  well  as  his  readers,  how  much  he  was 
indebted  to  an  intelligent  devotion  to  them,  for  the 
vividness  of  his  pencillings,  the  fertility  of  his  associa- 
tions, and  the  beauty  of  his  ir^agery.  Not  in  vain 
did  he  seek,  in  Hamlet's  musings,  "grounds  more 
relative"  than  popular  reading  could  afford,  or  turn 
from  the  inconsistencies  of  modern  gallantry,  which 
he  so  admirably  delineated,  to  bestow  his  fond  atten- 
tion upon  the  "bright  angel"  of  Verona,  and  "the 
gentle  lady  wedded  to  the  Moor." 

Lamb's  interest  in  the  drama  was  too  well  founded 
to  be  periodical,  as  is  generally  the  case.  He  shared, 
indeed,  the  common  destiny,  in  beholding  his  youth- 
ful visions  of  theatrical  glory  fade ;  the  time  came  to 
him,  as  it  comes  to  all,  when  the  mysterious  curtain 
was  reduced  to  its  actual  quality,  and  became  bona 
fide  green  bais^e,  and  wh~fen  the  dazzling  pilasters  lost 
their  likeness  to  "  glorified  sugar  candy ;"  but  the  his- 

14 


158 


THE  HUMORIST. 


trionic  art  retained  its  interest,  and  tHe  literature 
of  the  drama  yielded  a  continued  pastime.  From 
the  rainy  afternoon  which  the  "child  Elia''  spent  in 
such  hope  and  fear,  lest  the  wayward  (elements  should 
deprive  him  of  his  "first  play,"  to  the  night  when 
the  sleep  of  the  man  Elia  was  disturbed  with  visions 
of  Old  Munden,  he  sought  and  found,  in  the  drama, 
food  for  his  reflective  humour  and  pleasurable  occu- 
pancy in  his  weary  moods — if  such  e'er  came  to  him 
— which  may  be  doubted,  since  he  has  not  so  informed 
us.  Notwithstanding  his  partiality  for  theatrical  re- 
presentations, few  play-goers  entertained  a  more  just 
idea  of  their  frequent  and  necessary  inadequateness. 
He  recognised  the  limits  of  the  dramatic  art.  He 
realized,  beyond  the  generality  of  Shakspeare's  ad- 
mirers, the  impossibility  of  realizing,  by  the  most 
successful  performance,  our  deepest  conception  of  his 
characters.  He  knew  that  the  wand  of  that  en- 
chanter dealt  with  things  too  deep,  not  only  for 
speech,  but  for  expression.  He  was  impatient  at 
the  common  interpretation  of  Shakspeare's  mind.  In 
the  stillness  of  his  retired  study,  the  creations  of  the 
bard  appeared  to  him,  as  in  an  exalted  dream.  In  the 
attentive  perusal  of  his  plays,  the  delicate  touches, 
the  finer  shades  and  the  under  current  of  philosophy, 
were  revealed  to  the  mind  of  Lamb  with  an  im- 
pressiveness,  of  which  personification  is  unsuscepti- 
ble ;  and  few  of  his  essays  are  more  worthy  of  his 
genius  than  that  which  embodies  his  view^  on  this 
subject.     It  should  be  attentively  read  by  all  who 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


159 


habitually  honour 'the  minstrel  of  Avon,  without  being 
perfectly  aware  why  the  honour  is  due.  It  will  lead 
such  to  new  investigations  into  the  mysteries  of  that 
wonderful  tragic  lore,  upon  which  the  most  gifted 
men  have  been  proud  to  offer  one  useful  comment,  or 
advance  a  single  illustrative  hint.  To  the  acted  and 
written  drama,  Lamb  assigned  an  appropriate  office; 
he  believed  each  had  its  purpose,  and  that  he  who 
would  derive  the  greatest  benefit  from  either,  should 
study  them  relatively  and  in  conjunction.  Such  was 
his  own  method,  and  to  the  steadiness  and  success 
with  which  he  pursued  it,  his  writings  bear  the  most 
interesting  testimony.  The  zest  with  which  he 
dwells  upon  his  dramatic  reminiscences,  the  delight 
he  takes  in  living  over  scenes  of  this  kind, — in  recall- 
ing, after  an  interval  of  years,  the  enjoyment  of  a 
single  evening  of  Listen's  or  Bensley's  acting,  indi- 
cate the  intelligence  and  warmth  of  his  love  of  thea- 
trical performances;  while  his  successful  efforts  in 
reviving  the  nearly,  forgotten  dramatic  literature  of 
the  English  stage,  and  his  admirable  essays,  directly 
^  or  indirectly  devoted  to  the  general  subject,  evince 
his  application  and  attachment  to  it.  His  talents  as 
a  dramatic  critic  are  everywhere  visible.  There  is 
one  feature  of  our  author's  devotion  to  the  drama, 
which  is  too  ch^acteristic  of  the  man,  and  too  in- 
trinsically pleasing,  to  be  unnoticed.  He  never  for- 
got those  who  had  contributed  to  his  pleasure  in  this 
manner.  They  were  not  to  him  the  indifferent,  un- 
estimated  beings  they  are  to  the  majority  of  those 


1-60  THE  HUMORIST. 

who  are  amused  and  instructed  by  their  labours. 
Charles  Lamb  respected  the  genius  of  a  splendid 
tragedian  on  the  same  ground  that  that  of  a  fine 
sculptor  Avon  his  admiration.  He  believed  one  as 
heaven-bestowed  as  the  other.  He  recognised  his 
intellectual  or  moral  obligations  to  an  afibcting  actor 
as  readily  as  to  a  favourite  author.  He  sincerely 
respected  the  ideality  of  the  profession,  sympathized 
in  the  life  of  toil  and  comparative  isolation  it  imposes, 
and  felt  for  the  deserving  and  ambitious  who  had,  by 
assiduous  culture  and  native  energy,  risen  to  its 
summit  only  to  look  forward  from  that  long-sought 
elevation,  to  a  brief  continuance  of  success,  followed 
by  an  unhonoured  decline,  an  age  of  neglect,  and 
the  world's  oblivion. 

One  of  Lamb's  most  winning  traits  is  his  sincerity. 
The  attractiveness  of  this  beautiful  virtue,  even  in 
literature,  is  worthy  of  observation.  It  seems  to  be 
an  ordination  of  the  intellectual  world  and  a  blessed 
one  it  is  to  those  who  cherish  faith  in  a  spiritual  phi- 
losophy— that  truth  of  expression  shall  alonfe  prove 
powerfully  and  permanently  efi*ective.  It  is  happy 
that  we  are  so  constituted  as  to  be  moved  chiefly, 
if  not  solely,  by  voices  attuned  and  awakened  by 
genuine  emotion ;  it  is  well  when  foreign  aids  and  the 
most  insinuating  of  conventional  appliances  fail  to 
deceive  us  into  admiration  of  an  artificial  literary 
aspirant ;  it  is  a  glorious  distinction  of  our  coftimon 
nature,  that  soul-prompted  language  is  the  only  uni- 
versally acknowledged  eloquence.      The  mission  of 


CHARLES  LAMB.  161 

individual  genius  is  to  exhibit  itself.  The  advocacy 
of  popular  opinions,  the  illustration  of  prevailing 
theories — the  literary  party-work  of  the  day,  may  be 
undertaken  by  such  as  are  unconscious  of  any  more 
special  and  personal  calling.  But  let  there  be  a  self- 
preaching  priesthood  in  the  field  of  letters  and  of 
art,  to  teach  the  great  lesson  of  human  individuality. 
Let  some  gifted  votaries  of  literature  and  philosophy 
breathe  original  symphonies,  instead  of  merging  their 
rich  tones  in  the  general  chorus.  Unfortunate  is  the 
era  when  such  men  are  not ;  and  thrice  illustrious 
that  in  which  they  abound.  The  history  of  the 
world  proves  this ;  and  in  proportion  as  an  author  is 
sincere,  in  whatever  age,  he  deserves  our  respect. 
We  spontaneously  honour  minds  of  this  order,  in 
whatever  form  they  are  encountered.  The  compla- 
cent smile  with  which  douce  Davie  Deans,  in  Scott's 
most  beautiful  tale,  hears  himself  denominated  a 
Deanite^  recommends  him  to  our  esteem.  And  when 
a  poet  or  an  essayist  is  as  habitually  and  earnestly 
candid  as  is  Elia,  we  feel  and  acknowledge  his  worth, 
whatever  may  be  the  calibre  of  his  genius. 

Many  and  singular  are  the  advantages  attendant 
upon  this  characteristic.  The  most  obvious  is  that 
it  brings  out  the  true  power — the proprium  ingenium 
of  the  individual.  liook  at  the  history  of  Milton 
and  Dante.  They  surveyed  their  immediate  social 
circumstances  for  a  reflection  of  themselves  in  vain ; 
and  then,  in  calm  confidence,  they  turned  to  the  mir- 
ror-fountain within  themselves,  and  thence  evolved 

14* 


162  THE  HUMORIST. 

thoughts — unappreciated,  indeed,  by  their  cotempo- 
raries — yet  in  the  view  of  posterity  none  the  less 
oracular.  And  such  intellectual  labourers — however 
confined  and  comparatively  unimportant  the  sphere 
of  effort — being  absolved  from  any  undue  allegiance 
to.  merely  temporary  influences,  their  productions 
possess  a  free  and  personal  stamp.  Truth  is  to  litera- 
ture, what,  in  the  view  of  the  alchymists,  the  philo- 
sopher's stone  was  to  the  base  metals ;  it  converts  all 
it  touches  into  gold.  And,  although  our  author  had 
to  do  mainly  with  topics  which  a  superficial  reasoner 
would  term  trifling,  yet  his  lovely  sincerity  gives 
them  a  character,  and  sheds  upon  them  a  warm  and 
soothing  light,  more  pleasing  than  weightier  themes, 
less  ingenuously  treated,  can  often  boast.  Being 
sincere,  of  course  Lamb  wrote  only  from  the  inspira- 
tion of  his  overflowing  spirit;  he  seems  to  have 
penned  every  line,  to  have  thrown  off  every  essay, 
eon  amove.  He  did  not  require  the  expedient  of  the 
Greek  painter,  whoj  covered  the  face  of  one  of  hi& 
great  figures  with  a  mantle,  not  daring  to  attempt  a 
portraiture  of  the  intense  grief  which  he  represented 
him  as  suffering.  Lamb  endeavoured  not  to  express 
what  he  did  not  feel ;  he  wrote  not  from  necessity  of 
policy,'  but  from  enthusiasm,  from  his  own  gentle, 
sweet,  yet  deep  enthusiasm.-  He  had  a  feeling  for 
the  art  of  writing,  and  therefore  he  would  not  make 
it  the  hackneyed,  conventional  agent  it  too  oftefi  is ; 
but  ever  regarded  it  as  a  crystalline  mould  wherein 


CHARLES  LAMB.  163 

he  could  faithfully  present  the  form,  hues,  and  very 
spirit  of  his  sentiments  and  speculations. 

A  striking  and  delightful  consequence  of  this  lite- 
rary sincerity  is,  that  it  preserves  and  developes  the 
proper  humanity  of  the  author.  Literati  of  this 
class  are  utterly  devoid  of  pedantry.  In  society, 
and  the  common  business  of  life,  they  are  as  other 
men,  except  that  a  finer  sensibility,  and  more  elevat- 
ed general  taste,  distinguishes  them.  In  becoming 
writers,  they  cease  not  to  be  men.  Literature  is 
then,  indeed,  what  the  English  poet  would  have  it, — 
"  an  honourable  augmentation''  to  our  arms;  it  is  not 
exclusively  pursued  as  if  it  were  life's  only  good,  and 
a  human  being's  sole  aim ;  but  it  is  applied  to  as  a 
beautiful  accomplishment — a  poetical  recreation  amid 
less  humanizing  influences.  Thus,  instead  of  serving 
merely  as  an  arena  for  the  display  of  selfish  ambi- 
tion, or  a  cell  wherein  unsocial  and  barren  devotion 
may  find  scope,  it  is  valued  chiefly  as  a  means  of 
embodying  the  unforced  impressions  of  our  own 
natures,  for  the  happiness  and  improvement  of  our 
fellow-creatures.  We  say  that  such  a  view  must  be 
taken,  by  sincere  authors,  of  their  vocation,  because 
they  cannot  but  feel  that,  from  the  very  constitution 
of  their  natures,  literature  is  only  a  part  of  the  great 
whole  of  the  soul's  being — a  single  form  of  its  deve- 
lopment, and  one  among  the  thousand  oifices  to 
which  the  versatile  mind  is  called. 

It  is  needless  to  prove^^  in  detail,  Lamb's  sincerity. 
It  is,  perhaps,  his  most   prominent  characteristic; 


164  THE  HUMORIST. 

but  in  tracing  out  and  dwelling  upon  its  influence, 
we  are  newly  impressed  with  the  truth  of  Shaftes- 
bury's declaration,  that  "  wisdom  is  more  from  the 
heart  than  from  the  head."  We  have  ever  remarked 
that  the  most  delightful  and  truly  sincere  writers  are 
the  most  susceptible,  afiectionate,  and  unafi'ected 
men.  We  have  felt,  that  however  intellectually  en^ 
dowed,  the  feelings  of  such  individuals  are  the  true 
sources  of  their  power.  Sympathy  we  consider  one 
of  the  primal  principles  of  efficient  genius.  It  is 
this  truth  of  feeling  which  enabled  Shakspeare  to 
depict  so  strongly  the  various  stages  of  passion,  and 
the  depth,  growth,  and  gradations  of  sentiment.  In 
whom  does  this  primitive  readiness  to  sympathize — 
to  enter  into  all  the  moods  of  the  soul— continue  be- 
yond early  life,  so  often  as  in  men  devoted  to  imagi- 
native objects  ?  How  frequently  are  we  struck  with 
the  childlike  character  of  artists  and  poets  !  It 
sometimes  seems  as  if,  along  with  childhood's  ready 
sympathy,  many  of  the  other  characteristics  of  that 
epoch  were  projected  into  the  more  mature  stages  of 
being.  "  There  is  often,"  says  Madame  de  Stael, 
"  in.  true  genius  a  sort  of  awkwardness,  similar,  in 
some  respects,  to  the  credulity  of  sincere  and  noble, 
souls." 

This  readiness  to  catch  impressions — this  delicacy 
and  warmth  of  sympathy  which  belongs  to  the  sin- 
cere school  of  writers,  is  inestimable.  It  is  said 
that  a  musical  amateur  traversed  the  whole  of  Ire- 
land, and  gathered  from  the  peasants  the  delightful 


CHARLES  LAMB.  165 

airs  to  which  Moore's  beautiful  Irish  melodies  were 
afterwards  adapted.  How  much  of  the  charm  of 
those  sweet  songs  is  owing  to  their  associations  with 
the  native  and  simple  music  thus  gleaned  from  voices 
to  which  it  had  traditionally  descended  ?  And  it  is 
by  their  sympathy — their  sincere  and  universal  inte- 
rest in  humanity,  that  the  sweetest  poets,  the  most 
renowned  dramatists,  and  such  humble  gleaners  in 
the  field  of  letters  as  our  quaint  essayist,  are  ena- 
bled to  write  in  a  manner  corresponding  with  the 
heaven-attuned,  unwritten  music  of  the  human  heart. 
Sincerity  gives  them  the  means  of  interpreting  for 
their  fellow-beings  —  not  only  the  lofty  subjects 
which  filled  the  soul  of  the  "  blind  bard  of  Paradise/' 
and  the  broad  range  of  life  upon  which  the  observant 
mind  of  the  poet  of  human  nature  was  intent,  but 
those  lesser  and  more  unique  themes  which  Elia 
loved  to  speculate  about  and  humorously  illustrate. 

There  is  a  unity  of  design  in  the  essays  of  Lamb. 
Disconnected  and  fugitive  as  we  should  deem  them 
at  first  sight,  an  attentive  perusal  reveals,  if  not  a 
complete  theory,  yet  a  definite  and  pervading  spirit 
which  is  not  devoid  of  philosophy.  After  being 
amused  by  his  humour,  interested  by  his  quaint- 
ness,  and  fascinated  by  his  style,  there  yet  remains 
a  more  deep  impression  upon  our  minds.  We  feel 
that  he  had  a  specific  object  as  a  humorist;  or,  at 
least,  that  the  ideas  he  suggests  tend  to  a  particular 
result.  What  then  was  his  aim  ?  As  an  author, 
what  mission   does  he   fulfil  ?     We  think  Charles 


166  THE  HUMORIST. 

-  m 
Lamb  is  to  life,  what  Wordsworth  is  to  nature.  The 
latter  pointa  out  the  field  flowers,  and  the  meadow 
rill,  the  soul's  most  primal  and  simple  movements, 
the  mind*s  most  single  and  unsophisticated  tenden- 
cies ;  the  former  indicates  the  lesser  and  scarcely 
•noticed  sources  of  pleasure  and  annoyance,  mirth 
and  reflection,  which  occur  in  the  beaten  track  of 
ordinary  life.  It  was  remarked,  by  an  able  critic, 
of  the  author  of  the  Lyrical  Ballads,  that,  "he  may 
be  said  to  take  a  personal  interest  in  the  universe  ;"  . 
with  equal  truth  Elia  may  be  regarded  as  taking  a 
personal  interest  in  life.  He  delighted  in  designa- 
ting its  every-day,  universal,  and  for  that  very  reason 
— disregarded  experiences.  Leaving  the  delineation 
of  martyrdoms,  and  the  deeper  joys  of  the  heart,  to 
more  ambitious  writers,  he  preferred  to  dwell  upon 
the  misery  of  children  when  left  awake  in  their  soli- 
tary beds  in  the  dark;  to  shadow  forth  the  peace- 
destroying  phantom  of  a  "poor  relation;"  to  draw 
up  eloquent  bacheloric  complaints  of  the  "  behaviour 
of  married  people;"  to  describe,  in  touching  terms, 
the  agony  of  one  condemned  to  hear  music  "without 
an  ear;"  and  to  lament  pathetically  the  unsocial 
aspect  of  a  metropolitan  Sabbath,  and  the  disturbing, 
heartless  conduct  of  those  who  remove  old  landmarks. 
He  did  not  sorrow  only  over  minor  miseries,  But 
gloried  in  minor  pleasures.  To  him  "Elysian  ex- 
emptions" from  ordinary  toil — a  sweet  morning's  nap 
— a  "sympathetic  solitude" — an  incidental  act  or 
emotion  of  benevolence,  and,  especially,  those  dear 


CHARLES  LAMB.  167 

"  treasures  cased  in  leathern  covers,"  for  "which  he 
was  so  thankful  that  he  assures  us  he  could  say 
grace  before  reading  them ;  these,  and  such  as  these, 
were  to  Charles  Lamb  absolute  and  recognised  bless- 
ings. He  seems  to  have  broke  away  from  the 
bondage  of  custom  and  to  have  seen  all  things  new. 
One  would  think,  to  note  the  freshness  of  his  percep- 
tions in  regard  to  the  most  familiar  objects  of  Lon- 
don, that  in  manhood  he  was  for  the  first  time  ini- 
tiated into  city  life — that  he  was  a  new  comer  into  the 
world  at  an  advanced  age.  Hogarth  found  no  more 
delight  in  his  street-pencillings,  than  Lamb  in  his 
by-way  speculations.  In  the  voyage  of  life  he 
seemed  to  be  an  ordained  cicerone^  directing  atten- 
tion to  that  lesser  world  of  experience  to  which  the 
mass  of  men  are  insensible,— drawing  their  attention 
from  far-off  visions  of  good,  and  oppressive  reminis- 
cences of  grief,  to  the  lowly  green  herbage,  spring- 
ing up  in  their  way,  and  the  soft  gentle  voices 
breathing  at  their  firesides,  and  around  their  daily 
3teps.  And  there  is  truth  in  Elia's  philosophy,  for, — 

"If  rightly  trained  and  bred, 
Humanity  is  humble, — finds  no  spot 
Her  heaven-guided  feet  refuse  to  tread." 

We  never  rise  from  one  of  his  essays  without  a 
feeling  of  contentment.  He  leads  our  thoughts  to 
the  actual,  available  springs  of  enjoyment.  He  re- 
conciles us  to  ourselves ;  causing  home-pleasures,  and 
the  charms  of  the  wayside,  and  the  mere  comforts  of 


168  THE  HUMORIST. 

existence,  to  emerge  from  the  shadow  into  which  our 
indifference  has  cast  them,  into  the  light  of  fond 
recognition.  The  flat  dull  surface  of  common  life, 
he  causes  to  rise  into  beautiful  basso-relievo.  In 
truth,  there  are  few  better  teachers  of  gratitude  than 
Lamb.  He  rejuvenates  our  worn  and  weary  feelings, 
revives  the  dim  flame  of  our  enthusiasm,  opens  our 
eyes  to  actual  and  present  good,  and  with  his  humorous 
accents,  and  unpretending  manner,  reads  us  a  homily 
on  the  folly  of  desponding,  and  the  wisdom  of  appre- 
ciating the  cluster  of  minor  joys  which  surround  and 
may  be  made  continually  to  cheer  our  being. 

We  have  endeavoured  to  designate  the  most  pro- 
minent of  Charles  Lamb's  traits  *as  an  essayist. 
There  is,  however,  one  point  to  which  all  that  we 
know  of  the  man  converges.  His  literary  and  per- 
sonal example  tends  to  one  striking  lesson,  which 
should  not  be  thoughtlessly  received.  We  allude  to 
his  singular  and  constant  devotion  to  the  ideal.  In- 
deed, he  is  one  of  those  beings  who  make  us  deeply 
and  newly  feel  how  much  there  is  within  a  human 
spirit, — how  independent  it  may  become  of  extrinsic 
aids, — how  richly  it  may  live  to  itself.  Here  is  an 
individual  whose  existence  was,  for  the  most  part, 
spent  within  the  smoky  precincts  of  London ;  firsf  a 
schoolboy  at  a  popular  institution,  then  a  laborious 
clerk,  and  at  length  a  "lean  annuitant."  Public 
life,,  with  its  various  mental  incitements, — foreign 
travel,  with  its  thousand  fertilizing  associations, — 
fortune,  with  the  unnumbered  objects  of  taste  she 


CHARLES  LAMB.  169 

affords, — ministered  not  to  him.  Yet  with  what  ad- 
mirable constancy  did  he  follow  out  that  sense  of  the 
beautiful,  and  the  perfect,  which  he  regarded  as  most 
essentially  himself !  How  ardently  did  he  cherish  an 
ideal  life  !  When  outward  influences  and  domestic  re- 
strictions encroached  upon  this,  his  great  end,- — the 
drama,  his  favourite  authors,  a  work  of  art,  or  a 
musing  hour,  were  proved  restoratives.  He  did  not 
gratify  his  fondness  for  antiquity  among  the  ruins  of 
the  ancient  world ;  but  the  Temple  cloisters,  or  an 
old  folio,  were  more  eloquent  to  him  of  the  past^  than 
the  Coloseum  is  to  the  mass  of  travellers.  He  knew 
not  the  happiness  of  conjugal  affection ;  but  his  at- 
tachment to  a  departed  object  was  to  him  a  spring 
of  as  deep  joy,  as  the  unimaginative  often  find  in  an 
actual  passion. .  No  little  prattlers  came  about  him 
at  eventide ;  but  dream-children,  as  lovely  as  cherubs, 
solaced  his  lonely  hours.  The  taste,  the  love,  the 
very  being  of  Charles  Lamb,  was  ideal.  The  strug- 
gles for  power  and  gain  went  on  around  him ;  but 
the  tumult  disturbed  not  his  repose.  The  votaries  of 
pleasure  swept  by  him  with  all  the  insignia  of  gaiety 
and  fashion ;  but  the  dazzle  and  laugh  of  the  careless 
throng  lured  him  not  aside.  He  felt  it  was  a  blessed 
privilege  to  stand  beneath  the  broad  heavens,  to 
saunter  through  the  fields,  to  muse  upon  the  ancient 
and  forgotten,  to  look  into  the  faces  of  men,  to  rove 
on  the  wings  of  fancy,  to  give  scope  to  the  benevolent 
affections,  and  especially  to  evolve  from  his  own 
breast  a  light  "  touching  all  things  with  hues  of  hea- 

15 


170  THE   HUMORIST. 

ven ;"  in  a  word,  to  be  himself.  And  is  there  not  a 
delight  in  contemplating  such  a  life  beyond  that  which 
the  annals  of  noisier  and  more  heartless  men  inspire  ? 
In  an  age  of  restless  activity,  associated  eflfort,  and  a 
devotion  to  temporary  ends,  is  there  not  an  un- 
speakable charm  in  the  character  of  a  consistent 
humorist  ?  When  we  can  recall  so  many  instances  of 
the  perversion  of  the  poetical  temperament  in  gifted 
natures,  through  passion  and  error,  is  there  not  con- 
solation in  the  serene  and  continuous  gratification 
with  which  it  blessed  Lamb  ?  He  has  now  left,  for 
ever,  the  haunts  accustomed  to  his  presence.  No 
more  shall  Elia  indite  quaint  reminiscences  and  hu- 
morous descriptions  for  our  pleasure ;  no  more  shall 
his  criticism  enlighten,  his  pathos  affect,  or  his 
aphorisms  delight  us.  But  his  sweet  and  generous 
sympathies,  his  refined  taste  for  the  excellent  in 
letters,  his  grateful  perception  of  the  true  good  of 
being,  his  ideal  spirit,  dwells  latently  in  every  bosom. 
And  all  may  brighten  and  radiate  jit,  till  life's  cold 
pathway  is  bright  with  the  sunshine  of  the  soul. 


t  $\B\mm. 


MACAULAY. 


There  is  no  department  of  literature  whicl^has 
undergone  such  changes,  in  modern  times,  as  history. 
The  term  once  implied  a  mere  collection  of  facts, 
narrated  with  more  or  less  detail  and  consistency,  to 
which  recourse  could  be  had  for  precedents  and  illus- 
trations. Few  readers  associated  history,  in  its  ori- 
ginal form,  with  intellectual  enjoyment.  Its  brilliant 
episodes  and  interesting  characters  were  chiefly 
known  through  the  labours  of  the  poet.  Thus, 
Henry  VIII.  is  what  Shakspeare  made  him ;  Philip 
of  Spain  exists  in  the  intense  portraiture  of  Alfieri ; 
and  the  misfortunes  and  beauty  of  Mary  Stuart, 
were  revived  with  new  and  lasting  attractiveness 
by  the  tragedy  of  Schiller.  The  more  we  reflect 
upon  the  sources  of  our  permanent  historical  ideas, 
the  clearer  will  it  appear  that  fiction  and  poetry 
have  winnowed  the  silver  wheat  from  the  dusty  chaff 
of  the  annalist ;  and  that  epochs  af  e  remembered,  on 
account  of  some  dramatic  incident  or  heroic  person- 
age, which,  incarnated  by  genius,  has  been  stamped 
with  reality  to  the  heart.  Accordingly,  historic  lite- 
rature, in  the  absolute  meaning  of  the  phrase,  has 


172  THE  HISTORIAN. 

been  rather  a  storehouse  of  the  past,  which  the 
dramatist  explored  for  a  plot,  the  orator  for  an  argu- 
ment, and  the  antiquarian  for  the  pleasure  of  re- 
search. It  has  seldom,  and  only  in  fragments, 
proved  a  living  record  with  near  relations  to  the  pre- 
sent and  future.  A  gradual  modification  has  been 
long  evident.  As  the  sympathies  of  mankind  have 
been  awakened  by  the  facilities  of  intercourse,  history 
has  Jipcome  more  of  a  common  ground  and  suggested 
unimagined  attractions.  Her  archives  have  been 
laid  open  to  throw  light  upon  the  philosophy  of  life, 
— to  elucidate  the  progressive  tendency  of  society, 
and  to  trace  the  laws  of  providence.  A  fresh  rule  of 
perspective  has  been  applied,  whereby  the  distant  is 
brought  near ;  and  the  glow  of  Christian  sentiment 
has  revealed,  in  more  vivid  tints,  the  light  and  shade 
once  indistinctly  mingled.  Champollion  found  a  key 
to  the  monumental  history  of  Egypt ;  Niebuhr  to  the 
antiquities  of  Rome ;  and  Cousin  delivered  lectures 
that  kindled  crowds  of  listening  youth,  in  order  to 
trace  •  a  high  and  vast  design  in  the  vicissitudes  of 
nations.  But  this  acute  and  comprehensive  study  of 
the  past,  while  it  indicates  the  advanced  humanity 
j  and  superior  intelligence  of  the  age,  is  not  the  t)nly 
cause  of  the  improvement  in  historical  writing.  The 
principle  of  a  division  of  labour,  so  efi*ective  in  politi- 
cal and  social  economy,  has  been  operative  in  more 
abstract  vocations.  It  has  tended  to  classify  and 
subdivide  literature  and  science,  and  thus  render 
their  phases  more   distinct.      We   perceive   its   in- 


MACAULAY.  173  - 

fluence  upon  history  in  the  fact  that,  instead  of  coun- 
tries, events  and  individuals  are  made  the  subjects  of 
separate  description.  By  this  means,  instead  of  a 
confused  jumble  of  wars,  councils,  and  successions, 
we  have  many  central  points,  around  which  secondary 
things  are  made  to  revolve;  and  the  principle  at 
work — the  question  in  abeyance — the  spirit  of  the 
times — are  brought  out  with  a  relief  and  proportion, 
that  greatly  assists  our  insight  and  harmonizes  our 
conclusions.  With  this  view  Sismondi  wrote  his 
Italian  Republics,  Ranke  his  History  of  the  Popes, 
and  D'Aubigne,  that  of  the  Reformation.  Each  of 
these  subjects  is  interwoven  with  the  destiny  of  the 
race ;  each  includes  essential  relations  with  the  pro- 
gress of  civilization  and  liberty — both  political  and 
religious — but  separately  considered,  and  thus  de- 
tached from  the  mass  of  circumstances  in  which  the 
old  chronicles  involved  them — incalculable  facility  is 
afforded  the  inquirer.  The  advantage  is  similar  to 
that  obtained  by  the  man  of  science  through  nomen- 
clatures and  cabinets.  An  intelligent  method,  in  all 
vocations,  promotes  success ;  but  its  application  to 
history  is  comparatively  recent,  and  is  yet  immature. 
Yet  another  element  has  contributed  to  the  expan- 
sion of  the  historic  art, — and  that  is  the  eclectic  phi- 
losophy of  the  age,  which  constantly  asserts  itself 
not  only  directly,  but  with  an  instinctive  and  latent 
agency.  It  has  fused  together  not  only  abstract 
systems,  but  national  manners,  schools  of  art,  and 
principles  of  taste;    even   political   antipathies  are 

15* 


174  THE  HISTORIAN. 

reconciled  by  its  alchemy;  legitimists  and  republicans 
fraternize  for  some  idea  more  precious  to  each  than 
their  respective  opinions  on  government ;  and  secta- 
rians do  not  hesitate  to  evince  loyalty  to  the  creed  of 
one  denomination,  while  they  worship  according  to 
the  fol-m  of  another.  The  composer  attempts  to 
unite  the  melody  of  the  Italian  with  the  harmony  of 
the  German  music;  the  sculptor  adopts  a  subject 
from  the  Pagan  mythology,  and  imbues  it  with  the 
sentiment  of  the  Christian  religion;  and  French 
styles  of  dress  are  grafted  on  Puritan  manners.  The 
influence  of  this  eclectic  spirit  is  discernible  in  modern 
history,  by  its  appropriation  of  other  forms  of  litera- 
ture to  its  uses.  It  imitates  every  successful  attempt 
to  reproduce  the  past;  but  there  are  two  experi- 
ments, of  which  it  has  signally  availed  itself — very 
different  and  yet  each  effective.  If  we  were  called 
upon  to  designate  the  most  striking  representations, 
of  times  and  persons  long  departed,  which  modern 
literature  affords,  prominent  among  them  would  be 
the  French  memoirs  and  the  Scotch  novels — the  first 
as  authentic  daguerreotypes  of  personal  mariners,  the 
second  as  picturesque  delineations  of  scenes  and  cha- 
racter. A  peculiar  charm  of  Macaulay's  history  is 
the  judicious  transfer  of  these  vital  elements  to  his 
narrative.  The  account  of  Monmouth,  for  instance, 
taken  together,  is  as  relishing  a  piece  of  biography  as 
was  ever  penned,  distinct  in  outline  and  magnetic  in 
atmosphere — and  yet  it  is  interspersed  with  the 
annals  of  two  reigns.     The  same  is  true  of  the  brief 


MACAULAY.  175 

but  vivid  sketch  of  Argyle.  Both  these  characters 
have  been  drawn  by  Scott ;  and  yet,  without  the 
accessories  of  romance,  they  stand  before  us  in  as 
touching  and  more  clear  a  light  on  the  emphatic  page 
of  the  historian.  Dumas  has  written  an  exciting \^ 
novel,  in  which  Charles  I.  is  an  actor ;  but  the  extra- 
ordinary events  of  that  monarch's  reign,  and  espe- 
cially their  relation  to  his  fate,  is  set  before  the 
reader  by  Macaulay  in  so  lucid  a  manner,  that  a 
pleasure  is  afforded  equal  to  that  inspired  by  the 
most  thrilling  details.  There  is,  indeed,  no  doubt 
that  truth  is  more  wonderful  than  fiction,  if  only 
conveyed  with  verisimilitude ;  but  it  is  comparatively 
easy  to  weave  imaginative  drapery  in  which  to  array 
sterile  facts,  while  to  make  those  facts  vital  by  a  pro- 
cess of  sympathetic  reflection  that  almost  identifies 
the  writer  with  them,  is  another  and  more  difiicult 
task.  It  is  the  same  with  the  description  of  Charles 
II.  We  have  been  surfeited  with  anecdotes  of  the 
"merry  monarch;"  but  precisely  how  he  fascinated 
,a  people  so  exacting  and  grave  as  the  English,  into 
such,  patient  toleration  of  his  levity,  was  never  quite 
so  evident  as  it  is  made  by  the  present  chronicler, 
whose  account  of  his  playing  with  his  spaniels  at 
early  morning  in  the  park,  and  his  chit-chat  levees 
while  at  his  toilet,  explain  more  than  volumes  of  less 
significant  comment.  Indeed,  Macaulay  indicates, 
with  singular  impressiveness,  how  the  perfidy  of  the 
father  was  his  ruin,  and  the  urbanity  of  the  son  his 
redemption  with  the  people — and,  by  confining  him- 


176  THE  HISTORIAN. 

self  to  those  traits  which  affect  the  mutual  relation  of 
I  the  prince  and  the  nation,  elucidates  events  by  cha- 
'racter,  and  character  by  events — a  process  which  is 
^  at  once  artistic  and  philosophical. 

It  will  doubtless  be  objected  to  his  history,  that  it 
is  not  profound.  We  confess,  that  in  our  view,  this 
is  one  of  its  decided  charms.  It  is  the  office  of  the 
philosopher  to  follow  truth  to  its  last  analysis,  and 
deduce  great  principles  from  successive  facts.  The 
prime  duty  of  the  historian  is  to  narrate.  We  claim' 
from  him  authenticity,  clearness,  and  that  sympa- 
thetic interest  in  his  work  that  renders  it  vital. 
These  conditions  we  deem  felicitously  realized  in  the 
present  instance.  Yet,  without  an  occasional  com- 
ment, and  some  reflective  suggestion,  a  chronicler 
hardly  seems  in  earnest ;  and,  accordingly,  remarks 
that  spontaneously  occur  are  expressed  at  the  appro- 
priate time.  They  are,  however,  never  forced,  but 
naturally  spring  from  the  occasion;  and  are,  with 
scarce  an  exception,  just,  discriminating,  and  in  good 
taste.  Thus,  after  describing  the  attempts  of  Charles 
and  Laud  to  force  the  English  liturgy  on  the  Scots, 
it  is  added— "to  this  step  our  country  owes  her  free- 
dom ;"  and,  speaking  of  the  affectation  of  scientific 
tastes,  at  the  time  of  the  revival  of  Baconian  philo- 
sophy, the  writer  observes — "  It  is  the  universal  law, 
that  whatever  pursuit,  whatever  doctrine  becomes 
fashionable,  shall  lose  a  portion  of  that  dignity  which 
it  had  possessed  while  it  was  confined  to  a  small,  but 
earnest  minority,  and  was  loved  for  its  own  sake 


MACAULAY.  177 

alone.''  In  another  instance,  after  enunciating  some 
of  the  inhumanities  of  the  age  of  Charles,  we  are 
assured  that — "  the  more  we  examine  the  history  of 
the  past,  the  more  reason  we  shall  find  to  dissent 
from  those  who  imagine  that  our  age  has  been  fruitful 
of  new  social  evils.  The  truth  is,  that  the  evils  are, 
with  scarcely  an  exception,  old.  That  which  is  new 
is  the  intelligence  which  discerns,  and  the  humanity 
which  remedies  them."  Elsewhere  he  speaks  of  "  the 
implacable  hatred  of  an  apostate" — of  "the  fortitude 
which  is  derived  from  reflection  and  self-respect;" 
and  expresses  the  opinion,  that  "  in  every  age  the 
vilest  specimens  of  humanity  are  to  be  found  among 
demagogues."  By  such  natural  and  sensible  ob- 
servations, scattered  here  and  there,  the  narrative 
style  is  varied,  and  it  appears  to  us  that  more  elabo- 
rate or  acute  comments  would  be  out  of  place  in  a 
professed  historian.  It  is  taken  for  granted  that  the 
reader  will  philosophize  for  himself  on  the  facts 
presented.  Vigour  of  statement — the  material  for 
analogy  and  deduction — is  what  we  mainly  ask. 
After  all,  the  great  inferences  from  history  are  in- 
directly suggested.  If  we  follow  events  closely,  they 
solve  every  question  at  last.  Hence  Macaulay  has 
shed  much  philosophical  light  on  the  period  described, 
without  seeming  to  do  so.  No  writer  has  more 
plainly  traced  the  events  which  gave  rise  to  the  two 
great  political  parties,  or  so  ably  indicated  the  man- 
ner in  which  their  conflicts,  triumphs,  coalitions  and 
modifications,  worked  out  into  an  enduring  system, 


178  THE  HISTORIAN. 

the  principles  of  constitutional  government.  It  is 
seldom  that  the  same  hand  can  so  justly  depict  two 
such  antagonistic  characters  as  the  Puritan  and  the 
Cavalier,  and  demonstrate  the  utility  and  desirable- 
ness of  the  elements  they  respectively  contributed  to 
•the  English  state  and  society.  The  way,  too,  in 
which  French  supremacy  was  so  long  maintained, 
and  the  insinuation  of  her  politics  and  literary  tastes 
— so  utterly  alien  to  Saxon  manliness — is  developed 
with  rare  skill ;  while  the  comparative  natural  energy 
of  a  government  founded  on  popular  recognition,  and 
one  sustained  by  diplomatic  intrigue,  is .  finely  illus- 
trated by  the  description  of  England  universally 
respected  under  Oliver,  and  under  the  Stuarts — "  a 
blank  in  the  map  of  Europe."  In  a  word,  to  the 
philosophic  mind,  there  is  ample  food  in  this  history, 
though  it  may  not  be  served  up  with  the  emphasis  of 
Hallam  or  Guizot. 

The  great  problem  to  be  solved  by  the  English 
historian  is  the  rationale  of  her  civic  and  religious 
liberty,  and  her  extraordinary  material  prosperity; 
the  one  having  survived  the  action  of  causes,  many 
of  which  operated  equally  upon  Europe,  where  royal 
despotism  was  successfully  established,  and  the  other 
having  constantly  increased  to  its  present  unequalled 
grandeur,  in  spite  of  comparatively  limited  natural 
resources.  Now,  to  those  who  object  to  Macaulay's 
history,  that  it  is  not  sufficiently  philosophical,  we 
reply,  that  he  has  arranged  the  facts,  and  related  the 
story,  in  so  lucid  and  emphatic  a  manner,  that  the 


l^ACAULAY.  179 

latent  and  general  truths  evolve  themselves  to  a 
reflective  mind  more  impressively  than  if  set  forth  in 
an  argumentative  shape.  It  is  a  crowning  merit  of 
this  work  that  it  is  eminently  and  distincrtly  sug- 
gestive. We  cannot  fail  to  see  that  the  consistent 
and  wise  opposition  of  the  Commons  to  a  standing 
army,  and  their  firm  grasp  of  the  purse,  rendered  the 
kingly  prerogatives  inadequate  for  all  purposes  of 
selfish  aggrandizement  and  supreme  control,  such  as 
reduced  the  continental  nations  to  vassalage.  In 
regard  to  religious  freedom,  the  long  struggle  between 
the  Church  of  Rome  and  Protestantism,  developed 
under  such  circumstances  in  England  as  to  enlighten, 
in  a  very  experimental  and  summary  way,  the  whole 
people,  as  to  the  value  of  the  right  of  private  judg- 
ment in  matters  of  faith.  The  war  of  opinion  kindled, 
indeed,  the  fires  of  persecution,  but  their  flames  illu- 
mined as  well  as  consumed.  The  whole  history  of 
the  Test  Act,  as  here  unfolded,  shows  how  certain  is 
the  reaction  of  spiritual  tyranny.  To  the  obstinacy 
of  James,  in  attempting  to  force  his  creed  upon  the 
state,  all  the  religious  liberty  which  England  boasted 
owes  its  vehement  assertion;  for  the  people  were 
strong  in  the  conviction,  that,  *^' however  fair  the 
general  character  of  a  papist  might  be,  there  was  no 
excess  of  fraud  or  cruelty  of  which  he  was  not  capable 
when  the  safety  and  honour  of  his  church  were  at 
stake."  To  this  feeling  Macaulay  attributes  the 
popular  dread  of  Catholicism ;  and  shows  that  such 
men  as  Locke  and  Tillotson  were  justified  in  their 


180  *  THE  HISTORIAN. 

intolerance,  on  the  same  ground;  and  that  to  the 
policy  oT  James,  in  direct  opposition  to  the  general 
sentiment — ^Hhe  English  Roman  Catholics  owed  three 
years  of  lawless  and  insolent  triumph,  and  a  hundred 
and  forty  years  of  subjection  and  degradation/' 

In  the  description  of  this  monarch's  reign,  Macau- 
lay  follows  Fox  and  Mackintosh  in  all  essential  mate- 
rials ;  but  they  are  vivified  and  newly  fused  in  the 
alembic   of  his    earnest   mind.      Few   readers   will 
hesitate  to  adopt  his  estimate  of  James,  of  the  two 
Hydes,  of  Rochester  and  Tyrconnell ;  and  what  is  a 
greater  tribute  to  his  ability — in  few  memories  will 
his  masterly  portraits  of  these  distinguished  charac- 
ters fail  to  remain — bold  in  lineament,  haunting  in 
expression,  and  as  fresh  in  colour  as  if  just  depicted 
from  the  living  originals.     The  same  may  be  said  of 
the  more  elaborate  and  carefully  laboured  portrait  of 
William,  Prince  of  Orange.    Indeed,  among  the  most 
attractive  features  of  the  work,  are  the  glimpses  af- 
forded  of  Holland — her   local   aspect,    policy   and 
patriotism.      These  incidentally  appear  in  the  first 
volume.     In  the  second,  the  career  of  William  is  dis- 
played in  a  new  and  interesting  light.     Nor  can  we 
'  sufficiently  admire  the  felicity  of  method  adopted  by 
\  the  historian,  in  preserving  instructive  details  with- 
(  out  interrupting  the  continuity  of  eventful  narrative, 
I  and  filling  up,  in  a  separate  analysis,  the  outline  of 
!  characters  only  half  revealed  by  action.     Such  was 
the  case  with  the  Prince  William,  whose  master-pas- 


MACAULAY.  181 

sion,  often  concealed  beneath  a  natural  reserve,  is 
lucidly  set  forth. 

An  important  and  hitherto  neglected  branch  of  /  > 
history  is  character-writing.  It  has  been  the  custom  \  V^ 
of  the  annalist  to  recount  the  deeds  of  heroes,  and 
leave  their  traits  to  be  thence  inferred  by  the  reader ; 
but  the  strict  analysis,  and  the  metaphysical  tests 
■which  modern  criticism  has  applied  to  human  genius 
and  action,  now  give  special  meaning  to  history.  In- 
deed, one  of  its  most  diflScult  and  interesting  phases 
is  the  relation  of  individuals  to  events,  the  influence 
of  persons  upon  circumstances.  In  the  work  before 
us  there  are  several  carefully  drawn  and  elaborate  por- 
traits; and  what  is  remarkable,  they  are  drawn  with- 
out any  of  the  extravagance  which  occasionally  dimi- 
nishes the  authenticity,  while  it  heightens  the  efiect  of 
sketches  of  this  kind,  that  have  appeared  from  the  same 
pen  in  the  reviews.  Take,  for  instance,  three  totally 
dissimilar,  yet  greatly  influential  characters — each 
familiar  enough  by  name,  and  yet  in  regard  to  whom 
a  more  distinct  and  just  impression  is  induced  by  the 
facts  cited  and  the  dispositions  unfolded — Halifax, 
Jefireys,  and  William  Penn.  The  former  is  so  admi- 
rably characterized  as  to  serve  for  a  beautiful  type 
of  enlightened  moderation ;  the  wanton  cruelty  and 
ferocious  passions  of  the  second  are  detailed  with 
reference  to  the  vindictive  spirit  of  James  and  the 
reaction  of  a  persecuted  faction,  so  as  to  account  for 
the  scope  allowed  them  ;  while  the  Quaker  philanthro- 
pist is  exhibited  in  a  light  that  will  be  new,  and,  per- 

16 


183  THE  HISTORIAN. 

haps  heretical,  to  his  prescriptive  admirers.  That 
extraordinary  chapter  in  th6  annals  of  fanaticism — • 
the  career  of  Titus  Gates— is  also  placed  in  its  just 
connexion  with  the  political  animosities  and  fierce 
bigotry  of  the  age  ;  we  see  his  brutal  visage  amid  the 
crowd  that  glowered  on  him  around  the  bar ;  and  this 
and  similar  vivid  pictures  of  extreme  moral  degrada- 
tion are  the  more  striking,  from  the  contrast  they 
present  to  those  of  elegant  selfishness  and  "the 
smooth  barbarity  of  courts,"  in  the  luxury  of  Claren- 
don and  the  fate  of  Strafi'ord. 

There  is  something  essentially  dramatic  in  mate- 
rials like  these ;  but  it  is  a  nice  art  to  use  them 
judiciously.  Carlyle's  French  Revolution  is  a  kind 
of  tragic  poem.  He  sacrifices  details  and  continuity 
to  grand  eiffects.  He  gives  us  the  horrible  realities 
of  the  period  as  if  fresh  from  the  dreadful  fascination 
of  the  spectacle.  To  combine  graphic  description 
with  careful  statistics,  to  intersperse  impressive  deli- 
neations of  men  with  the  precise  ixarration  of  public 
occurrences,  is,  however,  undoubtedly  the  best  man- 
ner to  write  history  for  the  multitude ;  and  this  is  a 
distinguishing  merit  of  the  present  work.  But  it  is 
in  the  limning  of  classes  as  well  as  individuals  that 
Macaulay  excels.  No  one  can  rise  from  the  perusal 
of  this  history  without  a  far  less  vague  and  more 
satisfactory  idea  of  the  courtier,  the  soldier,  the 
clergy,  and  the  country  gentleman  of  the  day.  Their 
habits,  manners,  and  opinions,  are  so  clearly  exhibit- 
ed, that,  instead  of  being  solely  occupied  with  the 
renowned  actors  in  the  drama,  as  is  usually  the  case, 


MACAULAY.  183 

we  see  also  the  florid  countenances  of  her  rustic  aris- 
tocracy, the  torn  cassock  of  the  country  priest,  and 
the  rich  establishment  of  the  city  merchant ;  thus,  as 
we  are  hurried  along  the  stream  of  events,  our  sym- 
pathies fairly  enlisted  and  impatient  of  the  issue,  it 
is  not  only  with  the  consciousness  of  a  few  noble  per- 
sonages, whose  fate  is  at  stake — -but  the  shouts  and 
the  tramp  of  a  multitude  assure  us  that  the  people 
are  everywhere  around;  and  the  vast  problem  of  their 
destiny  is  pressed  upon  our  hearts,  with  an  earnest- 
ness that  renders  the  doings  of  kings  and  ministers 
but  secondary  and  incidental.  In  thus  keeping  in 
view  the  interests  and  tendencies  of  all  classes,  and 
making  obvious  their  mutual  action,  Macaulay  gives 
a  significance  to  his  record  at  once  explicit  and  com- 
plete. 

Another  peculiarity  is  the  sagacious  use  he  has 
made  of  the  testimony  of  ambassadors.  In  many  in- 
stances, he  gives  us  the  impression  of  foreign  attaches 
to  the  court,  both  in  regard  to  public  measures  and 
characters,  and  this  greatly  aids  us  in  coming  to  a 
truthful  result.  He  often  quotes,  with  brevity,  but 
judgment,  the  reports  of  the  two  French  ministers  of 
Louis,  so  that  we  are  enabled  to  form  an  opinion 
from  the  evidence  of  lookers-on,  as  well  as  that  of 
partakers  in  the  game.  A  striking  example  occurs, 
illustrative  of  the  solemn  effect,  even  in  a  period  of 
noted  perjury  and  corruption,  of  the  administration 
of  justice  in  England.  On  the  occasion  of  the  ac- 
quittal of  Delamere,  charged  with  participation   in 


1 84  THE  HISTOJRIAN. 

Monmouth's  rebellion,  which  is  described  as  closing 
another  period  of  proscription,  a  letter  of  Adda,  a 
Papal  envoy  accustomed  to  the  magnificent  pomp  of 
Koman  ceremonies,  is  referred  to,  as  stating  that  the 
trial  was  "  una  funzione  plena  di  gravita,  di  ordine, 
e  di  gran  speciosita."  It  requires  the  sagacity  in- 
spired by  genuine  historical  taste,  thus  to  converge 
the  light  from  various  and  scattered  materials — diplo- 
matic, statistical,  and  literary, — in  order  to  reveal, 
to  the  best  advantage,  the  time-obscured,  yet  noble 
countenance  of  truth. 

Leaving  Macaulay's  orthography  to  the  lexicogra- 
phers, we  come  to  his  style,  which  is  constantly  re- 
ferred to,  as  if  it  were  so  individual  and  prominent  a 
characteristic  as  wholly  to  account  for  his  popularity. 
It  is  singular,  however,  that  no  English  writer  of  our 
day  appears  to  be  more  free  of  artificial  rules  in  the 
construction  of  his  sentences,  less  studied  in  phrase- 
ology, and,  in  a  word,  more  thoroughly  spontaneous. 
His  thoughts  clothe  themselves,  as  it  were,  instinctive- 
ly with  the  appropriate  words.  His  paragraphs  are 
concise  or  diffuse  according  to  the  subject  discussed, 
and  the  feelings  with  Avhich  it  is  treated.  The  result 
of  a  series  of  events  is  given  with  eloquent  terseness; 
a  descriptive  passage  is  expanded  into  successive  un- 
dulations— each  carrying  on  the  idea  to  a  broader 
development,  "  till  the  ninth  billow  breaks  along  the 
shore,"  in  a  kind  of  Spenserian  crisis.  In  statistical 
announcement,  no  expression  can  be  more  directly 
to  the  point  than  this  writer's ;  in  analyzing  charac- 


MACAULAY.  185 

ter,  his  use  of  adjectives  and  his  definition  of  qualities 
are  remarkable  for  being  as  explicit  as  words  can 
make  them ;  but  where  scope  is  allowable,  he  gives 
utterance  to  an  opinion  with  the  utmost  vigour,  and 
breathes  a  sentiment  with  rare  truth  and  delicacy. 
Yet  there  is  no  conscious  artifice  in  this.  It  would 
be  absurd  to  talk  of  studying  Macaulay's  style  as 
it  was  the  fashion  to  do  in  regard  to  Addison  and 
Burke.  The  truth  is,  it  is  a  perfectly  natural,  and,' 
therefore,  a  variable  style,  above  technicality,  void  of 
pretence,  adapting  itself  to  the  theme,  occasion  or 
emotion  that  demands  expression,  by  a  kind  of  genius 
equally  the  result  of  common  sense  and  of  inspira- 
tion, of  a  perception  of  the  appropriate,  and  a  per-  > 
ceptibn  of  the  beautiful.  An  Edinburgh  professor, 
who  had  long  experience  in  teaching  the  art  of  com- 
position, declares  that  "  the  secret  of  using  language  T^ 
well  is  to  use  it  from  a  full  mind."  Such,  it  appears  1  V> 
to  us,  is  the  explanation  of  Macaulay's  rich  and  per- 
suasive diction.  His  mind  overflows  instead  of  being 
drained.  The  affluence  of  his  information  swells  the 
current  of  his  style,  the  clearness  of  his  ideas  renders 
it  transparent,  and  the  energy  of  his  thought  gives  it 
impulse.  Thus  it  is  what  style  should  ever  be,  the 
medium,  not  the  artistic  limit  of  mind — the  exponent, 
not  the  fancy  costume  of  ideas.  His  felicitous  union 
of  the  colloquial  and  the  didactic,  the  familiar  and 
the  dignified  in  expression,  results  from  the  just  and 
delicate  adaptation  we  have  noticed.  Another  mark- 
ed excellence  is  great  force  of  statement.     There  is 

16* 


186  THE  HISTORIAN. 

never  the  slightest  vagueness  either  in  the  terms  of 
a  proposition  or  the  summing  up  of  evidence,  how- 
ever general  may  be  the  intermediate  language.  This 
fixes  attention  and  vividly  impresses  the  memory. 
He  has  likewise  an  aphoristic  manner  of  uttering  an 
important  conclusion,  that  the  reader  warmed  by  his 
rhetoric,  seizes  upon  with  avidity.  It  appears,  there- 
fore, that  the  true  merits  of  his  style — spontaneity 
and  adaptation,,  are  quite  inimitable;  they  must 
spring  from  within  and  cannot  be  grafted  without ; 
like  courage,  honour,  generosity,  or  any  other  fine 
moral  instinct,  they  are  innate.  As  to  the  fascina- 
tion so  generally  acknowledged  to  belong  to  Macau- 
lay's  style,  it  obviously  arises  from  his  fluency,  his 
clearness,  and  especially  his  spirit.  The  latter 
quality,  the  same  which  distinguishes  the  verse  of 
Campbell  from  that  of  Wordsworth,  is  a  universal 
charm.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  writing  and  talking 
very  sensibly,  and  yet  in  a  soporific  monotone.  Ma- 
caulay,  no  matter  how  far  back  into  the  past  he  may 
be  delving,  how  arid  the  details  or  formal  the  scenes 
upon  which  he  may  be  engaged,  is  ever  awake. 
There  is  no  languid  movement,  but  a  kind  of  infec- 
tious animation  that  palpitates  in  every  sentences- 
It  is  like  the  conversation  of  a  friend  who  has  an  in- 
exhaustible fund  of  animal  spirits.  It  is  emphatically 
the  style  of  a  cultivated  Englishman  of  the  nineteenth 
century — self-possessed,  healthy,  with  reason  on  the 
alert,  and  comfort  all  around.  Strength,  equanimity, 
glibness,   and  cheery  toil  are  indicated  by  such  a 


MACAULAY.  187 

style.  It  savours  of  a  well-fortified  stomach,  well- 
braced  nerves,  a  determined  heart  and  a  clear  head. 
In  all  this,  we  mean  chiefly  to  say  that  Maeaulay 
writes  like  a  man;  and  that  is  the  reason  why 
men  of  sense  and  women  of  spirit  are  attracted  by 
his  style.  There  is  nothing  effeminate,  cockneyish, 
dainty,  or  far-fetched  in  it ;  but  an  essential  and  per- 
vading manliness,  in  striking  contrast  with  much  of 
the  literature  of  the  day,  which  is  emasculated  by 
indefiniteness,  extravagance,  or  morbid  refinement. 
We  may  realize  this  distinction  by  the  fact,  that  it 
not  only  gratifies  our  love  of  knowledge  and  taste  for 
eflScient  expression,  to  read  Maeaulay,  but  it  does  all 
this  without  infringing  upon  self-respect,  like  the 
social  delights  we  partake  with  a  noble  companion. 

It  is  difficult  to  select  a  single  passage  from  a 
voluminous  history  to  illustrate  these  characteristics 
of  style.  Yet  we  venture  to  adopt  one  at  random. 
Few  orders  of  the  Church  are  better  known  than  the 
Jesuits ;  a  common  adjective  of  our  vernacular  is 
derived  from  their  appellation.  In  describing  the 
political  relations  of  England  and  France,  it  becomes 
necessary  for  the  author  to  allude  to  the  coalition 
between  these  renowned  sectaries  and  Louis,  occa- 
sioned by  the  Port  Koyal  controversy.  To  place  the 
subject  in  a  clear  light,  the  historian  refers  to  the 
Jesuits — their  merits  and  crime.s,  their  triumphs  and 
their  wrongs.  The  subject  is  trite,  and  yet  no 
reader  can  feel  a  moment's  impatience,  so  felicitous 
is  the  sketch  and  so  effective  its  application. 


188 


THE  HISTORIAN. 


When  guided  by  truth  we  revert  to  first  principles. 
It  is  so  in  character  when,  freed  from  the  shackles  of 
worldly  pride,  we  act  upon  the  divine  precept,  and 
"become  as  little  children ;"  it  is  so  in  taste,  when 
the  casual  enchantment  of  an  intense  or  gf-otesque 
style  of  art  is  dispelled,  and  we  earnestly  resume 
simplicity  and  nature  as  the  genuine  rule  of  excel- 
lence :  it  is  so  in  history.  The  first  historians  were 
poets;  and  the  poetical  spirit  now  falls  upon  the 
later.  A  survey  of  this  field  of  literature,  indeed, 
displays  a  constant  tendency  to  the  artificial,  until 
that  wonderful  change  in  thought  and  expression, 
ushered  in  by  the  volcanic  agitations  during  the  last 
quarter  of  the  last  century.  The  almost  inextricable 
mingling  of  fact  and  fable  iji  ancient  history,  dimi- 
nishes its  authentic  value  ;  while  the  introduction 
of  individual  prejudices  and  the  doctrines  of  faction 
in  modern,  frequently  causes  it  to  be  equally  unreli- 
able. It  is  acknowledged  that  Gibbon  wrote  with  a 
preconceived,  speculative  object.  Cold  design  over- 
lays every  page.  His  work  is  rather  an  elegant  ora- 
tion, pronounced  with  sustained  diction,  than  a  liv- 
ing picture  of  the  past.  The  order  into  which  he 
reduced  an  immense  quantity  of  chaotic  material- is, 
perhaps,  its  most  striking  charm.  It  has  been  said 
of  Hume  that  he  first  brought  philosophy  to  the 
elucidation  of  English  history;  but,  as  before  inti- 
mated, these  standard  models  have  been  in  a  great 
degree  superseded  by  the  more  natural  graces  and  just 
insight  which  the  progress  and  the  humanity  of  the  age, 


MACAULAY.  189 

have  engendered.  It  is  pre-eminently  the  distinction 
of  modern  genius  to  have  rendered  man,  as  such,  the 
great  object  of  sympathy  and  interest.  Accordingly, 
details  once  thought  insignificant,  phases  of  life  here- 
tofore neglected,  and  social  influences  deemed  by 
earlier  writers  too  familiar  for  the  dignity  of  the  his- 
torian's pen,  are  now  combined  with  the  record  of 
grave  counsels,  national  wars,  and  political  vicissi- 
tudes. 

The  wisdom  of  this  course  is  evident  from  the 
fact,  that  we  do  not  actually  derive  our  clearest  im- 
pression of  kingdoms  or  epochs  from  history.  Plu- 
tarch has  filled  the  imagination  of  the  moderns  with 
Roman  traits  and  modes  of  thought  more  than  Livy. 
The  intellectual  character  of  Germany — its  actual 
moral  life — was  revealed  with  far  more  impressive- 
ness  by  Madame  de  Stael's  treatise,  than  by  all  the 
annals  compiled  by  the  laborious  and  accurate  re- 
search of  her  historical  scholars.  Old  Froissart  has 
continued  to  attract  from  the  obvious  genuineness  of 
his  descriptions — the  soldier-like  directness  and  pic- 
turesque fidelity  of  his  narrative.  •  Who  doubts  that 
our  most  lively  ideas  of  Spain,  are  gleaned  from  her 
dramas,  Gil  Bias  and  Don  Quixote?  These  and 
similar  considerations  warrant  the  belief  that  much 
of  truth  and  utility,  as  well  as  delight,  has  been  sacri- 
ficed to  what  is  called  the  dignity  of  history,  This 
quality  often  produces  the  same  results  in  literature 
as  in  manners.  It  maintains  pride  at  the  expense  of 
enjoyment,  and  surrenders  all  the  advantages  of  in- 


190  THE  HISTORIAN. 

timacy  for  the  sake  of  grandeur.  Hence  the  spirit  of 
enlightened  inquiry  is  baffled,  and  the  ardour  of  sym- 
pathetic emotion  chilled.  Our  communion  with  the 
past  becomes  quite  unsatisfactory,  until  it  is  sought 
through  the  dramatist,  or  the  letter-writer,  who  give 
us  veritable  glimpses  of  our  race,  admit  us  to  their 
daily  experience,  and  enable  us  to  share  their  pas- 
times and  their  wrongs.  Among  other  great  merits 
of  Michelet,  is  the  occasional  introduction,  in  his  his- 
tory of  France,  of  fresh  local  descriptions,  such  as 
might  be  taken  from  the  note-book  of  a  genial  tra- 
veller. This  is,  at  least,  a  living  grace,  which  gives 
vivacity  to  the  formal  account  of  battles  fought  cen- 
turies ago.  We  consider  Prescott  the  most  unobjec- 
tionable representative  of  that  school  of  history,  the 
ideal  of  which  is  correct  and  tasteful  narrative.  In 
other  respects,  he  seems  to  us  vastly  overrated.  We 
look  in  vain  for  that  earnestness  of  purpose,  that 
high  and  uncompromising  tone  of  sentiment,  that 
genuine  love  of  humanity,  which  should  distinguish 
the  historian  of  the  nineteenth  century.  Prescott  is 
a  kind  of  elegant  trimmer  in  literature,  such  as 
Macaulay  describes  in  the  volume  before  us,  in  poli- 
tics. His  popularity  is  chiefly  owing  to  the  fact  that 
he  offends  no  one's  taste  or  prejudices.  One  of  his 
critics  ingeniously  defends  this  secondary  renown  on 
the  principle  of  a  balance  of  qualities  which,  it  is  de- 
clared, is  both  rare  and  most  desirable  in  a  historian. 
But  readers  are  no  longer  satisfied  with  merely 
negative  merits.     The  heart  and  mind  of  the  age  de- 


MACAULAY.  191 

mand,  and  will  have,  the  positive.  Form  is  no 
longer  allowed  to  atone  for  spirit,  nor  taste  for 
truth,  nor  courtesy  for  love.  At  all  events,  if  the 
light  of  new  principles  cannot  be  given  to  a  narra- 
tive, tameness  will  not  be  endured.  Life  has  been 
too  often  imparted  to  the  musty  chronicle  by  poetry, 
to  allow  of  its  being  rewritten  without  a  vital  glow. 
Hence  the  familiar  spirit,  the  minute  details,  the 
graphic  portraiture,  and  the  comparison  of  the  past 
with  the  present,  that  gives  the  air  of  an  animated 
discussion,  the  descriptive  hue  of  romance,  and  the 
living  grace  of  a  tale  told  by  an  eye-witness,  which 
characterize  the  best  historical  works  of  the  day. 
In  that  of  Macaulay  we  have  an  admirable  specimen 
of  this  kind.  Whatever  may  be  its  comparative 
value,  it  is  conceived  with  a  keen  and  constant  view 
to  the  principles  we  have  indicated.  It  is  graphic, 
methodical,  clear,  and  unites  scenic  touches,  sketches 
of  manners  and  society,  and  individual  portraits, 
into  one  consistent  and  elaborate  picture  of  the  era 
it  chronicles. 

How  sedulously  the  author  has  sought  incidental 
and  collateral  information,  in  order  to  render  this 
picture  complete,  is  evident  from  the  various  and 
recondite  sources  of  knowledge  he  has  so  wisely  ex- 
plored. No  means  to  the  great  end  in  view  seems 
to  have  been  too  humble,  no  pains-taking  too  weari- 
some. He  has  consulted,  besides  historical  and  bio- 
graphical works,  and  official  documents,  the  news- 
papers and  the  parish-registers  of  the  day.  An  old 
sermon  yields  him  one  suggestion,  an  obsolete  novel 


192  THE  HISTORIAN. 

another.  Here  a  time-stained  ballad,  and  there  the 
confession  of  a  martyr  ;  now  a  passage  from  a  long- 
forgotten  play,  and,  again,  a  couplet  from  one  of 
Dryden's  satires,  aflfords  the  needful  hint.  On  the 
same  principle  no  really  national  feature,  although 
quite  apart  from  political  history,  is  suffered  to  pass 
"without  its  explanation.  Thus  the  proverbial  excel- 
lence of  English  inns  is  accounted  for  by  the  circum- 
stance that,  in  early  times,  they  afforded  the  only 
resting-place  for  the  traveller,  between  populous  and 
active  districts,  and  were,  therefore,  a  certain  source 
of  profit,  and  a  great  social  necessity.  The  distinct- 
ness of  classes — especially  that  between  rural  squires 
and  the  city  burghers,  is  explained,  on  the  ground 
that  the  locomotive  facilities  were  so  limited  as  effec- 
tually to  bar  frequent  intercourse.  The  origin  of  the 
celebrated  breed  of  English  horses,  and  the  influ- 
ences of  coffee-houses  upon  London  society,  are  re- 
garded as  worthy  of  mention,  as  being  part  of  the 
history  of  the  country,  equally  with  the  execution  of 
Charles  I.,  the  fall  of  Danby,  or  the  court  influence 
of  the  Duchess  of  Portsmouth.  Female  education, 
the  amount  of  iron  manufactured,  the  state  of  the 
roads,  the  wages  of  day  labourers,  the  housewifery, 
amusements,  costume,  equipages,  and  municipal  regu- 
lations— all,  in  short,  characteristic  of  the  period 
described,  is  brought  clearly  before  the  mind,  either 
in  careful  statistics  or  animated  sketches,  so  that  we 
not  only  have  a  panoramic,  but  a  picturesque,  econo- 
mical, and  dramatic  view  of  the  age  and  people. 


ibtaltst* 


JOHN  STERLING  * 

There  is  an  affecting  charm  in  the  incomplete, 
whether  in  destiny  or  character,  especially  when  their 
elements  have  been  active  and  intense.  As  a  lyrical 
effusion  will  sometimes  give  us  a  deeper  glimpse  into 
the  poet's  heart  than  a  finished  epic,  so  the  desultory 
and  casual  overflowings  of  a  mind  striving  for  har- 
mony, the  suggestive  eloquence  which  gives  the  idea 
of  a  latent  world  of  unexpressed  emotion,  awakens 
both  imagination  and  sympathy  far  more  than  utter- 
ances comparatively  full  and  satisfactory. 

To  possess  at  once  keen  insight  and  imperative 
sympathies,  is  to  be  liable  to  extreme  mental  suf- 
fering, for  which  we  can  imagine  no  consolation  but 
a  high  and  serene  faith.  The  ability  to  discern  things 
in  their  actual  relations,  to  pierce  the  rind  of  the 
conventional  and  draw  near  the  heart  of  nature,  may 
be  enjoyed  merely  as  a  scientific  pastime ;  but  when 

*  1.  Essays  and  Tales  by  John  Sterling',  collected  and  edited,  with 
a  memoir  of  his  life.  By  Charles  Julius  Hare,  M.  A.  London.  J. 
W.Parker.     1848. 

2.  The  Poetical  Works  of  John  Sterling.  First  American  edition. 
Philadelphia :  Herman  Hooker.     1842. 

17 


194  THE  IDEALIST. 

"the  strong  necessity  of  loving'*  is  united  to  such 
clear  perceptions,  the  mind  and  the  heart  are  exposed 
to  severe  and  incessant  conflict;  and  to  reconcile 
them  is  the  grand  problem  of  life.  This  appears  to 
have  been  the  case  with  Sterling.  He  had  the 
intense  desire  for  truth  which  belongs  to  the  philoso- 
pher,  and  the  enthusiasm  and  sense  of  beauty  which 
characterize  the  poet.  To  gratify  these  dominant 
impulses,  and  at  the  same  time,  be  loyal  to  the  duties 
of  his  position  and  true  to  himself,  was  what  he 
constantly  sought  to  do,  in  the  face  of  physical 
weakness  and  pain,  and  ever-recurring  monitions  of 
death.  The  free  thought,  the  patient  will  and  the  lov- 
ing heart,  wrought  not  always  together,  but  sometimes 
adversely ;  and,  only  at  intervals,  came  the  balm  of 
content  and  the  blessedness  of  tranquillity.  Hence 
in  broken  tones  and  by  lapses  he  obtained  utterance. 
No  shapely  and  complete  temple  rose  beneath  the 
hand  whose  nerves  disease  had  unstrung ;  and  hints 
instead  of  revelations  are  bequeathed  by  a  mind 
seldom  allowed  to  work  continuously.  It  is  precisely 
in  such  a  result,  however,  that  we  see  the  effect  of 
the  severance  between  thought  and  action,  which  is  so 
impressive  a  sign  of  the  times.  The  warrior's  thought, 
in  earlier  days,  orily  heralded  his  attack;  the  scholar's 
meditation  armed  him  for  controversy  which  influenced 
the  fate  of  nations ;  and  the  minstrel,  equally  adroit 
with  sword  and  pen,  struck  his  harp  in  the  intervals 
between  embassies.  There  are  now  countless  emi- 
nent thinkers,  who  must  be  content  to  cast  a  waif 


j 


JOHN  STERLmG.  195 

upon  the  rushing  stream  of  opinion  and  see  it  carried 
down  the  tide  of  oblivion ;  exhaust  their  energy  both 
of  purpose  and  sentiment,  in  vain  longings  and  specu- 
lative reverie;  and  live,  like  Sterling — "not  arrived 
at  clear  satisfaction,  yet  stirred  by  the  prompting 
consciousness  that  there  is  a  higher  aim  of  being 
than  the  outward  world,  or  our  sense  and  passion  can 
furnish." 

It  is  chiefly  as  a  type  of  this  class  of  men,  singu- 
larly prevalent  in  this  age,  that  Sterling  deserves 
attention.  The  record  of  his  views,  aims,  and  senti- 
ments, his  acquisitions  and  aspirations,  contained  in 
verse,  essay,  tale  and  letter,  admit  the  thoughtful 
reader  to  a  consciousness  of  his  life — and  that  life, 
in  its  fragmentary  issues,  its  alternations  of  labour 
and  despondency,  its  moods  of  criticism  and  enthu- 
siasm, hope  and  apathy,  has  in  it  a  blended  glory  and 
wo,  promise  and  failure,  sadness  and  brilliancy,  which 
although  analogous  to  human  life  in  general,  involves, 
as  it  seems  to  us,  a  phase  characteristic  of  the  times, 
and  one  which  has  attracted  but  slightly  the  con- 
sideration it  deserves. 

We  allude  to  the  fact  that  while  greater  scope^than 
ever  before  is  now  afforded  talent,  and  unequalled 
opportunities  for  knowledge  exist,  earnestness  of 
purpose  seems  to  find  no  heritage  or  goal.  In  by- 
gone days,  there  was  ever  a  cause  dear  enough  to 
absorb  all  the  energies  of  grave  and  ardent  natures, 
a  line  of  policy  for  the  statesman  leading  to  mag- 
nificent results ;  a  special  truth  for  the  divine,  the 


1*96  THE  IDEALIST. 

maintenance  of  which  happily  penetrated  and  over- 
flowed his  being; — a  crusade  for  the  soldier  holy 
enough  to  sanction  and  consecrate  his  adventurous 
will  and  elicit  his  unswerving  courage.  Energy  of 
thought  or  feeling,  instead  of  being  diffused  and 
"perplexed  in  the  extreme/'  as  now, — found  instant, 
tangible,  and  efficient  vent.  Life  was  direct,  indi- 
vidual, absolute.  Its  daily  tasks  involved  a  great 
desire.  Priests,  warriors,  and  poets,  did  not  enact 
their  vocations  by  mechanical  routine,  but  with  faith 
and  zeal — as  those  to  whom  they  imported  much. 
Instead  of  speculating  about  life,  they  lived ;  instead 
of  criticising,  they  created;  instead  of  "letting  I  dare 
not  wait  upon  I  would" — they  either, realized  desire 
through  action,  or  turned  from  it  with  the  self-sacri- 
fice of  faith.  They  dallied,  questioned,  theorized, 
dissected  not ;  but  found  some  reality  either  of  belief 
or  enterprise  to  embrace,  cling  to  and  pursue — thus 
giving  unity  and  meaning  to  existence. 

Cut  off  by  physical  feebleness  from  extensive  re- 
search, Sterling  sought  truth  by  the  process  suggest- 
ed by  Swedenborg — the  maintenance  of  a  recipient 
state  through  self-oblivion.  He  calmly  accepted  the 
idea  so  eloquently  urged  by  Coleridge,  that  "faith 
is  the  highest  reason;"  and  in  his  literary  studies, 
was  indebted  to  him  for  the  invaluable  conviction 
that  all  criticism  is  blind  which  discerns  not  the  "  or- 
ganic unity  of  an  object."  A  "mood  of  tranquil 
sympathy,"  was  his  ideal  of  happiness.    "His  mind," 


JOHN  STERLING.  197 

says  his  biographer,  "  was  reflective  and  speculative 
rather  than  intuitive  and  productive." 

Mr.  Hare  evidently  struggles  between  his  affection 
for  his  friend  and  his  conscientiousness  as  a  priest, 
in  recording  the  change  in  Sterling's  views.  To  us, 
however,  it  is  evident  that  the  conservative  discipline 
and  spiritual  inertness  of  the  established  church, 
were  quite  inimical  to  the  progressive  and  earnest 
spirit  of  Sterling.  Early  associations,  a  sense  of 
duty  and  a  natural  love  of  the  consistent  and  the 
habitual,  rather  than  absolute  conviction,  seems  to 
have  allied  him  to  its  doctrine  and  forms.  The  truth 
is,  his  nature  was  of  that  description  which  a  creed 
oppresses.  He  belonged  to  the  order  of  men  of  whom 
Wordsworth  speaks  in  his  ode  to  Duty,  who  "  do 
God's  will  and  knows  it  not."  The  more  he  read 
metaphysics  and  theology,  the  less,  it  seems  to  us, 
did  he  realize  the  equanimity  he  sought.  The  more 
he  argued  the  less  was  he  convinced.  But  when, 
with  the  childlike  truthfulness  of  the  poet,  he  yielded 
himself  to  the  influences  of  nature ;  when  under  the 
unchecked  influence  of  sentiment — whether  love  or 
veneration — a  holy  calm  seems  to  have  brooded  over 
his  soul.  Only  then  did  he  write  genially.  There 
is  a  painful  overlaying  of  unconscious  and  sweet  im- 
pulse, in  his  verse,  by  will,  reasoning  and  a  definite 
moral  system.  Hence  a  certain  stifihess  which  is  re- 
pulsive. Yet  as  the  formality  of  a  Puritan  often 
covered  ardent  heroism — one  can  ever  see  a  cordial 
gleam  from  the  eye  of  Sterling,  the  man,  through 

17* 


198  THE  IDEALIST. 

the  spectacles  of  his  scholarship,  and  hear  a  human 
heart  beat  under  the  frosty  surplice  of  the  priest.  It 
was  this  quality  of  earnestness  which  attracted  Ster- 
ling to  German  literature,  and  rendered  its  study  an 
epoch  in  his  life.  Although  in  his  admirable  paper 
on  the  subject,  he  attributes  its  peculiar  excellencies 
to  the  "  seats  of  free  thought,''  as  he  calls  the  Ger- 
man universities,  it  is  because  there,  in  his  opinion, 
may  be  found  "the  greater  part  of  earnest  medita- 
tion extant  on  earth." 

Sterling  never  won  the  palm  of  English  scholar- 
ship. His  ill  health  prevented  the  incessant  appli- 
cation requisite  for  great  classical  acquirements ;  but 
independent  of  this,  he  was  like  Montaigne,  more  in- 
clined to  "  forge  his  mind  than  to  furnish  it."  No 
error  is  more  common  than  to  estimate  mental  power 
by  the  extent  and  retentiveness  of  the  memory.  It 
is  one  of  those  popular  fallacies  which  the  self-inte- 
rest of  mediocre  intellects  ever  inculcates,  on  the 
same  principle  that  characters  of  narrow  moral  re- 
sources exaggerate  the  utility  of  mere  belief,  and 
give  precedence  to  the  letter  over  the  spirit  of  the 
law.  Erudition,  however,  can  never  take  the  place 
of  talent,  or  any  amount  of  formal  ideas  yield  the 
vitality  which  results  only  from  native  intuitions. 
Sterling's  early  teacher  acknowledges  that  he  caught 
the  spirit  of  a  classical  author  with  singular  quick- 
ness and  truth,  and  often  reproduced  in  his  own  lan- 
guage, the  essence  of  the  myth  or  character,  whose 
philological  details  alone  his  classmates  laboriously 


JOHN  STERLING.  199 

unfolded.  At  school,  also,  his  love  of  fine  rhetoric 
evinced  itself  in  great  sensibility  to  effective  combi- 
nations of  language  and  a  fondness  for  "sonorous 
words." 

Sterling's  paternal  ancestry  were  Irish — which 
d;CCOunts  for  the  ardent  element  of  his  nature.  He 
was  born  at  Kames  Castle,  Isle  of  Bute,  July  20th, 
1806  ;  and  four  years  after,  was  removed  to  Glamor- 
ganshire, to  the  romantic  scenery  of  which  county 
he  ascribed  some  of  the  most  lasting  impressions  of 
his  childhood.  His  early  tuition  was  strictly  private, 
on  account  of  his  delicate  health.  In  1833  he  pub- 
lished a  novel;  and  during  the  following  year,  having 
completed  his  theological  studies,  he  was  ordained 
deacon,  at  Chichester,  by  his  former  teacher,  con- 
stant friend,  and  subsequent  biographer.  In  a  few 
months,  however,  repeated  attacks  of  pulmonary  dis- 
ease, obliged  him  to  withdraw  from  professional  duty, 
in  which  he  had  been  singularly  faithful.  Thence- 
forth his  life  seems  to  have  been  divided  between 
books  and  journeys; — experiments  to  ward  off  ill- 
ness, and  unremitting  efforts  to  do  good,  enlarge  the 
scope  of  his  mental  vision  and  achieve  new  discove- 
ries in  the  realm  of  truth.  Athough  thus  baffled  by 
circumstances,  he  deemed  himself  only  a  "looker  on" 
in  the  struggle  of  life, — there.were  inklings  of  adven- 
ture and  occasions  for  philanthropic  enterprise  even 
for  the  studious  invalid.  His  courageous  and  self- 
sacrificing  activity  at  a  college  fire,  early  marked 
him  for  a  man  of  benevolent  impulse ;  he  was  a  cor- 


200  THE  IDEALIST. 

dial  ally  of  the  Spanish  refugees,  and  crossed  the 
Channel  in  a  fishing-boat,  with  General  Torrijos, 
afterwards  executed  at  Malaga.  In  the  West  Indies, 
his  house  was  blown  down  by  a  hurricane.  He  there 
interested  himself  in  the  education  of  the  slaves  ;  and 
subsequently  visited  the  south  of  France  and  Italy  ; 
developing,  wherever  he  sojourned,  the  same  keen 
sense  of  the  evils  of  society,  the  same  spirit  of 
knowledge — the  same  clearness  of  understanding 
and  earnestness  of  feeling.  He  died  in  1843,  having 
survived  his  wife  but  a  few  months ;  and  the  close  of 
his  own  life  was  tranquil.  He  passed  away  with 
mental  energies  unimpaired,  gentle  affections  vivid, 
and  a  calm  faith  in  the  benignity  of  his  Creator. 

His  writings  reflect  a  nature  subject  to  the  com- 
plex and  antagonistic  influences  to  which  we  have 
alluded.  The  ultimate  impression  they  leave  is  a 
melancholy  one;  for  even  the  tragic  consummation 
of  a  great  hope,  or  the  tardy  realization  of  a  prevail- 
ing idea,  leaves  a  certain  feeling  of  satisfaction. 
The  sad  phase  of  the  richest  natures  in  our  day  is 
their  fragmentary  and  indeterminate  destiny.  As 
we  muse  of  their  career,  our  sympathies  are  painfully 
excited  by  the  ^'strife  of  duties" — that  forbids  the 
concentration  of  their  impulses  and  acts,  and  breaks 
up  emotion,  thought,  and  energy,  into  inadequate 
results.  But  the  imperfections  of  a  career  are  in 
such  cases,  best  atoned  for  by  social  triumphs  and 
felicity.  In  direct  contact  with  other  minds,  in  glad 
fellowship  with  kindred  spirits,  in  the  mental  attri- 


JOHN  STERLING.  201 

tion  of  liberal  society,  a  crude  destiny  may  be  in  a 
great  measure  retrieved.  Thus  was  it  with  Sterling. 
He  numbered  among  his  intimate  friends  the  choicest 
men  of  his  country.  By  those  admitted  to  his  confi- 
dence he  was  deeply  loved.  His  companionship 
quickened,  solaced,  and  cheered;  and  he  had  the 
"  faculty  of  eliciting  dormant  powers  in  those  with 
whom  he  was  brought  in  contact."  Although  his  pen 
traced  no  immortal  inscriptions,  he  held,  while  living, 
the  divining  rod  which  indicated  unerringly  the  mines 
of  intellectual  wealth  in  others,  and  brought  the  ore 
of  genius  and  the  hidden  springs  of  character  brightly 
to  the  surface.  This  efi'ective  social  ministry — both 
in  regard  to  utility  and  enjoyment,  amply  compen- 
sated for  the  limited  influence  he  exerted  through 
the  press.  He  fulfilled  the  high  vocation  of  a  friend 
in  the  best  significance  of  the  term ;  and  nature's 
holy  gifts  consecrated  him  to  a  wider  service  than 
the  church. 

His  mind  was  appreciating  rather  than  productive. 
He  excelled  in  mental  portraiture;  and  identified 
himself  through  sympathy  with  literary  and  heroic 
characters,  so  as  to  designate  their  traits  with  preci- 
sion and  fulness.  This  is  evident  in  the  series  of 
papers  entitled  "Shades  of  the  Dead;"  there  are 
fine  and  thoughtful  touches  especially  in  the  sketches 
of  Alexander,  Columbus,  and  Jean  d'Arc ;  while  the 
power  of  more  elaborate  characterization  is  well  de- 
veloped in  the  essays  on  Montaigne  and  Carlyle^ — 
writers  as  diverse  in  spirit  and  aim  as  can  readily 


202  THE  IDEALIST. 

be  conceived,  and  yet  brought  home  with  equal 
facility,  if  not  to  the  sympathies,  at  least  to  the  per- 
ception of  Sterling. 

His  diction  is  concise  and  rhetorical  and  is  marked 
by  philosophical  definiteness,  so  that  we  are  some- 
times let  into  the  essential  point  of  a  subject  by  a 
single  felicitous  phrase.  Thus  he  says  of  Montaigne, 
that  he  "  delighted  in  all  kinds  of  distinct  human 
realities  ;"  of  Carlyle,  that  he  "loves  the  ideal 
realized  in  things  and  persons,,  not  expounded  in 
systematic  thought;"  and  aptly  describes  his  style, 
"not  so  much  a  figured  as  an  embossed  one."  Dr. 
Johnson  he  declares  "something  between  the  parish 
schoolmaster  and  the  Great  Mogul;"  and  admirably 
describes  Jean  Paul's  genius  as  shrinking  "with 
fastidious  and  self-complacent  vivacity  from  all  the 
forms,  blazonries,  and  authorities  of  social  existence, 
when  these  happen  to  be  insufficiently  supported  by 
the  worth  of  the  men  whom  nature's  habitual  irony 
has  thus  dignified." 

In  metaphor  he  often  evinces  the  poetical  instinct. 
Thus  speaking  of  relative  excellence,  he  says — "the 
iris  in  the  dew-drop  is  just  as  true  and  perfect  an 
iris,  as  the  bow  that  measures  the  heavens,  and  be- 
tokens the  safety  of  a  world  from  deluge  :"  elsewhere 
speaks  of  "the  artificial  parasol  of  self-conceit"  as 
substituted  for-  the  infinite  concave  of  heaven ;  and 
compares  a  poor  child's  funeral  in  a  gay  street  in 
London,  to  "  a  wounded  raven  fluttering  through  the 
chamber  of  a  king." 


JOHN  STERLING.  203 

In  accordance  with  these  characteristics,  the  poetry 
of  Sterling  has  more  grave  philosophy  than  lyric 
fire.  His  muse  is  aphoristic  rather  than  melodious. 
The  calm  wisdom  of  Wordsworth,  and  the  metaphy- 
sical intelligence  of  Coleridge  reappear  in  his  verse. 
It  contains,  however,  striking  rhetorical  beauties.  In 
expression,  he  often  blends  precision  of  idea  with 
force  of  language,  so  as  to  produce  rare  verbal  feli- 
city. Thus  in  the  longest  of  his  poems,  "  The  Sex- 
ton's Daughter,"  though  many  of  the  stanzas  are 
commonplace,  the  effect  of  the  whole  is  singularly 
pathetic,  and  it  leaves  a  sweetly  melancholy  impres- 
sion on  the  reader's  mind,  like  a  strain  of  elegiac 
music.  His  description  of  the  three  principal  cha- 
racters, afford  a  fair  example  both  of  the  manner  and 
significance  of  the  composition :  - 

THE  SEXTON. 

Sad  seemed  the  strong",  gray-headed  man, 
Of  lagging  thought  and  careful  heed  ; 

He  shaped  his  life  by  rule  and  span, 
And  hoarded  all  beyond  his  need. 


Thus  from  within  and  from  without, 
She  grew,  a  flower  of  mind  and  eye ; 

'Twas  love  that  circled  her  about, 
And  love  in  her  made  quick  reply. 

Church,  too,  and  churchyard  were  to  Jane 
A  realm  of  dream,  and  sight,  and  lore ; 

And,  but  for  one  green  field  or  twain, 
All  else  a  sea  without  a  shore. 


204  THE  IDEALIST. 

Of  this  her  isle  the  central  rock 
Stood  up  in  that  old  tower  sublime, 

Which  uttered  from  its  wondrous  clock 
The  only  tJiought  she  had  of  time. 

Withdrawn  was  she  frpm  passing  eyes 
By  more  than  Fortune's  outward  law, 

By  bashful  thoughts  and  silent  sighs. 
By  Feeling's  lone  retiring  awe. 


For  far  unlike  was  Henry's  mind 
To  aught  that  Jane  had  seen  before ; 

Though  poor  and  lowly,  yet  refined 
With  much  of  noblest  lore. 

A  gentle  widow's  only  child 
He  grew  beneath  a  loving  rule  ; 

A  man  with  spirit  undefiled. 
He  taught  the  village  school. 

And  many  books  had  Henry  read, 
And  other  tongues  than  ours  he  knew. 

His  heart  with  many  fancies  fed, 
Which  ofl  from  hidden  wells  he  drew. 

What  souls  heroic  dared  and  bore 
In  ancient  days  for  love  and  duty, 

What  sages  could  by  thought  explore, 
What  poets  sang  of  beauty. 

With  these  he  dwelt,  because  within, 
His  breast  was  full  of  silent  fire. 

No  praise  of  men  he  cared  to  win. 
More  high  was  his  desire. 

Thus  Henry  lived  in  meek  repose. 
Though  suffering  oft  the  body's  pain. 


JOHN  STEULING.  205 

Though  sometimes  aimless  thoughts  and  woes 
Like  wrestling  giants  racked  the  brain. 


Her  looks  like  summer  lightning  spread, 
And  filled  the  boundless  heavenly  deep ; 

Devoutest  peace  around  she  shed, 
The  calm  withput  the  trance  of  sleep. 

And  so  she  fi-eshened  all  his  life, 

As  does  a  sparkling  mountain  rill. 
That  plays  with  scarce  a  show  of  strife 

Around  its  green,  aspiring  hill. 

We  lack  space  to  designate  the  many  beautiful 
touches  which  give  effect  to  this  simple  rhythmical 
tale.  Sterling  has  thrown  around  it  the  charm  of  a 
pensive  imagination,  unexaggerated  and  natural.  He. 
sincerely  recognised  the  principle  of  his  favourite 
Carlyle,  that — "  Reverence  is  the  condition  of  in- 
sight." His  ideal  of  love  is  elevated — uniting  the 
human-  and  religious : 

And  man  will  ask  below  the  skies 

That  breast  may  lean  to  beating  breast. 

That  mingling  hands  and  answering  eyes 
May  halve  the  toil  and  glad  the  rest. 


Yet  could  he  temper  love  and  meekness 

With  all  the  sacred  might  of  law. 
Dissevering  gentleness  from  weakness, 
,  And  hallowing  tenderness  by  awe, 

"Aphrodite"  exhales  a  classical  spirit  and  has 
many  fine  images.  As  a  poem  it  offers  a  rich  con- 
trast to  the  "Sexton's  Daughter" — and  is  radiant 
with  the  atmosphere  of  the  goddess,  by  whom 

18 


206  THE  IDEALIST. 


.  As  tale  and  history  tell, 


And  sculptured  marble  gray, 
And  oracle  and  festal  rite 

Surviving  man's  decay ; 
By  whom  all  things  are  beautiful, 

And  peaceable  and  strong", 
And  joy  from  every  throe  is  born, 

And  mercy  conquers  wrong. 


c  'f. 


/'  The  "Hymns  of  a  Hermit"  are  pervaded  by  a 
truly  devout  spirit,  a  confidence  in  truth,  and  a  sub- 
lime hope.  The  language  is  concise  and  appro- 
priate, and  some  memorable  lines  occur.  "  Otho 
III.,"  "Louis  XV.,"  and  "Alfred  the  Harper,"  are 
highly  suggestive  historical  anecdotes,  reproduced  in 
eloquent  and  picturesque  verse.  But  perhaps  the 
most  striking  and  characteristic  of  Sterling's  minor 
poems,  is  that  entitled  "  Abelard  to  Heloise."  Al- 
though ostensibly  the  embodiment  of  another's  feel- 
ing, it  has  an  earnest  clearness — a  deep  undertone 
and  terse  beauty  which  mark  it  as  the  offspring  of 
individual  emotion.  It  is  a  genuine  sibylline  leaf 
torn  warm  from  the  heart  of  an  impassioned,  yet 
noble  and  just  being,  which  appeals  to  the  fondest 
records  of  experience. 

Such  life-dramas,  as  that  of  Sterling,  have  an  im- 
mortal type  in  Hamlet.  We  recognise  in  the  souls 
whose  developments  we  thus  trace — as  in  the  cha- 
racter of  the  musing  prince — reflective  powers,  both 
acute  and  profound,  a  world  of  sensibility,  impas- 
sioned affections,  delicate  moral  feeling  —  all  the 
noblest  elements  of  huma,nity,  yet  so  balanced  and 


JOHN  STERLING.  207 

opposed  as  to  find  no  healthful  and  complete  external 
manifestation.  Hence  the  internal  conflictj  the  as- 
pirations and  doubts,  the  magnificent  conceptions 
and  ardent  longings  which  find  vague  utterance  per- 
haps, but  "lose  the  name  of  action.'*  An  existence 
like  this,  is  more  common  to  this  than  any  preceding 
age;  and  its  record  is,  as  before  suggested,  like  a 
problem  but  half  solved.  In  a  word,  the  restlessness 
which  accompanies  the  unattained^  robs  it  of  perfect 
harmony.  The  want  of  a  nucleus  only  seems  to 
prevent  a  splendid  crystallization.  Struggle  is  the 
most  obvious  law,  and  regret  the  most  evident  fruit 
of  powers  which  needed  but  definite  scope,  aim,  and 
motive  to  leave  enduring  and  valuable  fruits.  With 
variety  of  knowledge,  there  are  no  grand  and  satis- 
factory principles  ;  with  intense  thought  there  comes 
forth  no  sustaining  belief;  with  quick  and  ardent 
affection,  there  is  no  lasting,  adequate  and  recipro- 
cated love.  Social  claims  and  personal  individuality, 
taste  and  necessity,  duty  and  love,  by  perpetual  con- 
flict, restrain  the  efficiency  of  the  man.  He  is  a 
looker-on,  where  he  would  fain  be  an  a.ctor;  he 
dreams,  hopes  and  reasons  in  a  perpetual  circle ;  re- 
veals himself  by  glimpses,  and,  haunted  by  a  sense 
of  lofty  purposes, — with  a  mind  craving  new  and 
vast  truth,  and  a  heart  parched  with  an  infinite  thirst 
for  sympathy — instead  of  adventure,  pilgrimage, 
warfare,  or  original  intellectual  creation  —  those 
moulds  in  which  the  glowing  spirits  of  past  ages  cast 
the  lava  of  enthusiasm — a  morbid  self-inspection,  a 


208  THE  IDEALIST. 

melancholy  prying  into  consciousness — an  oppressive 
sense  of  the  responsibility  and  the  mysteries  of  life, 
make  the  gifted  of  this  century  too  often  but  modi- 
fied reproductions  of  Childe  Harold  —  which,  not- 
withstanding the  repudiation  of  critics,  is  most  em- 
phatically the  illustrative  epic  of  the  age.  Sterling 
was,  indeed,  guiltless  of  ungrateful  misanthropy; 
and  his  pious  sentiments  were  a  bar  to  reckless  de- 
spair ;  but  when  we  trace  the  evidences  in  these 
volumes  of  intense  mental  activity,  a  fearless  spirit 
of  inquiry,  a  singularly  candid  and  affectionate  dis- 
position, and  the  comparatively  meagre  result — we 
cannot  but  feel  that  this  self-dissatisfaction  was  in- 
evitable. 

Want  of  scope  is,  indeed,  the  complaint  of  the 
most  gifted  of  the  present  day.  They  leave  me- 
morials of  what  they  were  capable  of,  instead  of 
eternal  deeds  and  writings.  Achievement  seems  to 
have  become  visionary,  conquest  a  speculative  event, 
and  martyrdom  a  domestic  process.  Shelley  in  his 
IV  ^t  Letters  from  an  Italian  hermitage,  and  Lamartine  in 
his  Palestine  Journal,  breathe  the  same  consciousness 
of  baffled  will  and  perplexed  endeavour.  Indeed,  how 
few  men,  like  Schiller,  unite  genius  and  character^ 
power  regulated  by  wisdom,  and  writings  moulded 
from  the  soul's  life,  yet  shaped  into  forms  of  endur- 
ing beauty,  by  patience,  taste  and  rectitude ! 


J     % 


t  %^t\nnm\i 


BURKE. 


To  the  cotemporaries  of  a  great  statesman  it  is  of 
vital  moment  to  decide  whether  his  opinions  agree 
with  each  other  and  if  his  course  is  loyal.  But  to 
the  reader  of  a  future  day,  his  writings  are  chiefly 
attractive  for  the  truth  they  contain  and  the  re- 
sources of  thought  and  style  they  exhibit.  No  pub- 
lic character  escapes  animadversion,  for  if  there  is 
nothing  in  actions  which  party  hatred  can  exe- 
crate, there  is  always  room  enough  for  base  sur- 
mise in  regard  to  motives.  Happily  the  graces  of 
composition,  the  pleadings  of  humanity,  the  serene 
e9*ulgence  of  wisdom,  survive  such  transient  and 
local  warfare.  True  eloquence,  like  poetry,  is  hal- 
lowed by  enduring  admiration ;  and  as  we  attach  an 
inestimable  value  to  a  portrait  by  Titian,  although 
the  very  name  of  the  original  has  perished,  so  the 
warm  and  exquisite  hues  of  noble  fancy  and  the 
effective  light  and  shade  of  ardent  thought,  continue 
sacred  long  after  the  questions  upon  which  they 
were  expended  have  been  forgotten,  and  the  tempo- 
rary ends  they  subserved  have  ceased  to  obtain. 
Depth  and  clearness  of  reflection  and  beauty  of  style 

18* 


210  THE  RHETORICIAN. 

• 

are  the  grand  preservatives  of  the  rhetorician's 
labours.  They  even  render  classic  the  subject  to 
which  they  are  devoted.  In  the  Forum  at  RomCj  we 
think  of  Cicero's  invectives  against  Catiline ;  in  the 
American  Senate  Chamber,  of  Webster's  defence  of 
the  Union  ;  and  in  Westminster  Hall,  of  Sheridan's 
speech  at  the  trial  of  Hastings.  To  illustrate  the 
sources  of  rhetorical  power,  there  is  no  more  felici- 
tous example  than  Edmund  Burke.  His  life  was 
remarkably  transparent,  unobscured  by  mystery  and 
unembarrassed  by  violent  contradictions.  We  clearly 
descry  his  image  and  easily  trace  his  career.  The 
means  and  appliances  that  promoted  his  development 
were  in  no  degree  extraordinary;  they  are  within 
the  reach  of  thousands.  His  habits  were  simple,  his 
purposes  undisguised,  and  the  nature  and  extent  of 
his  cultivation  amply  revealed  in  his  writings.  His 
outward  experience  was  comparatively  uneventful. 
Of  Irish  descent,  his  youth  is  associated  with  a  resi- 
dence near  the  ruins  of  Spenser's  dwelling — where 
much  of  the  Fairy  Queen  was  written,  —  with  the 
salutary  discipline  of  a  Quaker  school  and  the  usual 
college  instruction.  Like  most  boys  of  intellectual 
tendency,  his  health  was  not  robust  and  he  dallied 
with  the  muses.  By  the  former  contingency  he  was 
rendered  more  impressible  to  the  influences  of  nature, 
and  by  the  latter  experiment  his  taste  for  beautiful 
expression  was  revealed. 

When  his  academical    education  was   completed, 
like  most  young  men  of  active  intelligence,  he  vacil- 


BURKE.  211 

lated  awhile  between  several  projects.  He  applied 
for  a  Scotch  professorship  and  meditated  emigration 
to  America.  Meantime  pursuing  his  law-studies  in 
London,  he  increased  his  father's  yearly  allowance 
of  two  hundred  pounds,  by  contributing  to  the  periodi- 
cals of  the  day — a  habit  which  gave  him  variety  of 
practice  in  the  art  of  expression.  Occasional  jour- 
neys for  needful  recreation,  miscellaneous  and  unre- 
mitting reading,  professional  study,  attentive  visits 
to  the  House  of  Commons  and  the  theatre,  and 
social  enjoyment  of  the  best  kind,  quickened  his 
powers  and  informed  his  mind.  He  contracted  a 
happy  marriage  with  the  daughter  of  his  benign 
physician,  and  thenceforth  domestic  life  was  the 
balm  of  his  spirit.  His  philosophical  taste  and  love 
of  beauty  found  scope  in  the  "Enquiry  into  the 
Sublime  and  Beautiful;"  and  the  historical  article 
which  he  regularly  furnished  the  Annual  Regis- 
ter, afforded  the  most  desirable  initiation  pos- 
sible into  national  affairs  and  political  questions. 
Assimilating  these  various  influences,  practical  and 
contemplative,  he  was  unconsciously  trained  for  the 
career  of  the  rhetorician.  From  nature,  books,  the 
courts.  Parliament,  the  drama  and  society,  he  con- 
stantly gleaned  ideas ;  the  amenities  of  a  united 
family  softened  the  intensity  of  reflection,  and  the 
habitual  use  of  the  pen  on  comprehensive  topics  as 
well  as  oral  discussions  with  the  superior  men  of  the 
day,  gave  new  facility  to  that  power  of  language 
with  which  he  was  endowed  by  nature.     That  he  re- 


212  THE  RHETORICIAN. 

cognised  this  general  and  accurate  knowledge  of  men 
and  things,  and  an  acquired  felicity  of  utterance  as 
the  requisites  of  his  vocation,  may  be  inferred  from 
the  opinion  he  gives  Barry,  the  painter,  in  regard  to 
the  old  masters, — which  is  equally  applicable  to 
verbal  expression.  "If  I  were  to  indulge  in  a  con- 
jecture, I  should  attribute  all  that  we  call  greatness 
of  style  and  manner  of  drawing,  to  the  exact  know- 
ledge of  anatomy  and  perspective.  For  by  knowing  - 
exactly  and  habitually,  without  the  labour  of  parti- 
cular and  occasional  thinking,  what  was  to  be  done 
in  every  figure  they  designed,  they  naturally  attained 
a  freedom  and  spirit  of  outline,  because  they  could 
be  daring  without  being  absurd :  whereas  ignorance, 
if  it  be  cautious,  is  poor  and  timid ;  and  if  bold,  it  is 
only  blindly  presumptuous." 

It  is  essential  to  a  great  rhetorician  that  he  should 
be  endowed  not  only  with  quickness  and  discernment, 
and  capacity  to  retain  and  assimilate  facts  and  prin- 
ciples, but  that  a  basis  of  strong  natural  sense  should 
underlie  both  his  acquisitions  and  facilities.  Other- 
wise he  degenerates  into  a  mere  special  pleader ;  his 
arguments  are  ingenious  rather  than  profound,  and 
his  view  of  any  subject  liable  to  be  more  acute  and 
visionary,  than  true  and  comprehensive.  It  is  this 
justness  of  perception,  this  original  clearness  of  in- 
sight which  the  word  judgment  best  though  vaguely 
indicates,  that  leads  to  an  habitual  reference  to  first 
principles,  to  confidence  in  primary  truth,  and  to  a 
calm  and  earnest  reliance  on  inductive  wisdom.     It 


BURKE.  213 

was  to  a  remarkable  degree  the  characteristic  of 
Burke.  He  seems  to  have  been  a  conservative  in 
the  best  signification  of  the  term — without  bigotry 
or  fanaticism,  yet  with  singular  tranquillity  of  con- 
viction and  liberality  of  feeling.  He  joined,  indeed, 
the  dignity  of  the  conservative  to  the  generous  spirit 
of  the  reformer.  He  was  a  zealous  advocate  for 
progress,  but  for  progress  in  a  certain  direction  and 
under  established  influences.  In  the  spirit  of  our 
great  revolutionary  orator,  he  seemed  ever  ready  to 
exclaim,  ''  I  have  but  one  lamp  by  which  my  feet 
are  guided,  and  that  is  the  lamp  of  experience ;  I 
know  of  no  way  of  judging  of  the  future  but  by  the 
past:"  thus  Patrick  Henry  opened  the  celebrated 
speech  in  which  he  so  eloquently  advocated  resis- 
tance to  Great  Britain,  boldly  suggesting  the  great- 
est of  national  innovations  by  an  appeal  to  the  un- 
satisfactory result  of  patient  endurance.  It  was  not 
a  familiar  precedent,  however,  but  a  great  principle 
that  justified  his  cause.  Thus  Burke  in  his  writings 
on  France  and  America  manifests  the  liveliest  at- 
tachment to  existent  institutions  and  a  faith  in  them 
as  the  result  of  ages  of  human  conflict  and  thought, 
but  it  is  on  the  fundamental  principles  involved  in 
them  and  on  the  natural  instincts  whence  they  spring, 
that  he  relies.  It  appears  to  us  that  thie  great  ele- 
ments of  Burke's  rhetoric  may  all  be  traced  to  this 
philosophic  habitude.  He  never  lost  sight  of  the  facts 
of  human  nature  and  human  life — of  the  everlasting 
laws  by  which  they  are  regulated.     The  phenomena, 


814  THE  RHETORICTIAN. 

however  imposing  or  winsome,  never  drew  him  from 
the  law,  the  form  from  the  substance,  the  transient 
phase  from  the  original  element.  Hence  his  deep 
aversion  to  the  substitution  of  theoretical  for  practi- 
cal intelligence,  his  recoil  from  all  attempts  to  regu- 
late actual  society  by  metaphysical  opinions,  to  let  a 
doctrine  take  the  place  of  a  sentiment,  or  a  vision- 
ary speculation  of  a  long-tried  expedient.  It  was 
this  view  that  led  him  to  perceive  so  distinctly  the 
error  of  American  taxation  and  the  inapplicability 
of  French  philosophy  to  human  well-being.  It  ren- 
dered him  sagacious,  because  it  carried  him  below  the 
surface  of  things  to  the  mind  and  heart  of  man,  as 
developed  within  to  his  consciousness,  around  to  his 
observation,  and  in  history  to  his  reflection.  Hence, 
also,  his  remarkable  prescience.  He  was  a  good 
prophet  in  national  afiairs,  on  the  very  same  ground 
that  Shakspeare  is  the  most  effective  of  dramatists — 
a  constant  recurrence  to  the  natural,  and  therefore 
the  inevitable,  springs  of  human  action.  Thus  he 
asks,  in  his  "  Keflections  on  the  Revolution  in 
France,"  "Why  do  I  feel  so  differently  from,  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Price,  and .  those  of  his  lay  flock,  who  will 
choose  to  adopt  the  sentiments  of  his  discourse? 
For  this  plain  reason  —  because  it  is  natural  I 
should;  because  we  are  so  made  as  to  be  affected,'' 
&c.  The  same  idea  in  another  guise,  reappears  in 
all  the  arguments  and  expressions  of  this  celebrated 
essay ;  for  instance,  "  We  shall  never  be  such  fools 
as  to  call  in  an  enemy  to  the  substance  of  any  sys- 


BURKE.  215 

tern  to  remove  its  corruptions,  to  supply  its  defects, 
or  to  perfect  its  construction."  One  of  his  brief 
phrases  strikingly  exhibits  how  completely  he  identi- 
fied reasonable  obedience  to  the  instincts  and  senti- 
ments of  human  nature,  with  civilization,  and  how 
destructive  he  deemed  all  experiments  not  based 
upon  their  primitive  teaching.  "Nor  as  yet,"  he 
says,  in  allusion  to  the  philosophical  atrocities  then 
enacting  in  Paris — "  have  we  subtilized  ourselves  into 
savages.''  His  first  published  work  of  celebrity — 
the  Treatise  on  the  Sublime  and  Beautiful,  is  the 
best  evidence  of  the  reverence  and  curiosity  with 
which  he  looked  into  nature  for  essential  truth.  In 
this  composition  he  did  so  as  a  mental  philosopher ; 
in  his  after  public  career,  he  adopted  the  same 
method  as  the  only  legitimate  test  of  justice  and 
utility. 

He  wished  to  "  move  with  the  order  of  the  uni- 
verse." "I  have  endeavoured,"  he  says,  "through 
my  whole  life,  to  make  myself  acquainted  with 
human  nature ;  otherwise  I  should  be  unfit  to  take 
even  my  humble  part  in  the  service  of  mankind." 
And  again,  "  wise  men  will  apply  their  remedies  to 
vices  not  to  names ;  to  the  causes  of  evil  which  are 
permanent,  not  to  the  occasional  organs  by  which 
they  act,  and  the  transitory  modes  in  which  they 
appear."  But  it  is  needless  to  multiply  instances. 
In  dwelling  upon  this  invariable  deference  to  the 
first  principles  of  our  common  nature — to  the  great 
and  unalterable  facts  of  humanity,  as  the  philosophic 


216  THE  RHETORICIAN. 

element  of  Burke's  character,  we  desire  to  suggest 
the  process  of  his  efficiency,  to  show  that  no  vague 
and  chancer  aptitude,  to  which  under  the  name  of 
genius  the  indiscriminate  refer  all  mental  results,  is 
necessary  to  account  for  his  power.  He  proceeded 
in  discussing  a  public  question  exactly  as  in  a  scien- 
tific analysis ;  he  brought  the  same  recognition  of 
facts,  the  same  lucid  arrangement  and  rigid  induc- 
tion to  his  commentary  on  the  French  Revolution  as 
to  the  problem  of  the  Sublime  and  Beautiful.  In 
both  cases  it  was  what  God  had  written  on  the  mind 
and  implanted  in  the  heart  of  man  that  he  strove  to 
descry,  and  according  to  which  he  argued  and  in- 
ferred. We  do  not  say  that  therefore  his  conclusions 
were  infallible,  but  to  this  comprehensive  yet  search- 
ing method,  we  confidently  ascribe  the  wisdom  that 
men  of  all  parties  find  in  the  writings  of  Burke.  We 
believe  it  is  thus  only  that  any  perennial  light  is  shed 
on  momentous  themes.  The  view  thus  eliminated 
may  be  incomplete,  it  may  be  partial,  but  as  far  as  it 
goes,  it  is  a  genuine  and  distinct  revelation  and  an 
infinite  help  towards  universal  truth.  It  gives  a  cer- 
tain grandeur  to  statesmen,  historians,  and  poets,  to 
apply  essential  principles  to  immediate  occurrences, 
try  the  elenffents  of  the  hour  in  the  crucible  of  the 
past,  and,  undisturbed  by  the  noise  and  smoke  of  the 
conflict  around,  calmly  guide  their  steps  by  patient 
and  trusting  observation  of  the  eternal  stars.  This 
lofty  habitude  cramped  Burke,  except  in  great  ques- 
tions, as  a  parliamentary  orator.     He  was  obliged 


BURKE.  217 

sometimes  to  begin  with  a  coaxing  appeal  or  startling 
expression  to  win  the  requisite  attention.  His  style 
of  thinking  was  eminently  adapted  to  contemplative 
minds.  The  superficial  were  impatient  at  its  depth. 
Burke  excelled  in  furnishing  reasons,  so  clearly  ex- 
pressed and  so  justly  deduced  as  to  fascinate  by  their 
bright  and  orderly  array,  if  they  did  not  overwhelm 
by  their  intrinsic  power. 

There  is  a  permanency  attached  to  views  thus 
based  upon  long  experience  and  drawn  from  the 
primal  facts  of  man  and  nature,  that  prolongs  their 
interest  and  value.  However  inadequate  they  may 
be  as  representing  all  the  ideas  involved  in  political 
and  social  science,  no  reflective  mind  can  fail  to  per- 
ceive that  they  have  essential  meaning ;  and  will, 
therefore,  be  continually  reproduced.  Two  revolu- 
tions have  occurred  in  France  since  Burke's  cele- 
brated Reflections  appeared.  The  last  publication 
of  note  relative  to  the  duty  and  prospects  of  that 
country,  is  a  pamphlet  by  Guizot.*  We  are  struck 
with  the  coincidences  of  thought,  the  identity  of 
argument  of  these  two  treatises — written  at  such 
intervals  of  time  and  at  such  difl'erent  stages  of 
human  progress.  "I  confess  to  you,  sir,"  says 
Burke,  "  I  never  liked  this  continual  talk  of  resist- 
ance and  revolution,  or  the  practice  of  making  the 
extreme  medicine  of  the  constitution  its  daily  bread." 
^'A  society  may  be  tortured,  perhaps  destroyed," 

*  Democracy  in  France. 
19 


218  THE  RHETORICIAN. 

says  Guizot;  "but  you  cannot  make  it  assume  a 
form  or  mode  of  existence  foreign  to  its  nature,  either 
by  disregarding  the  essential  elements  of  which  it  is 
constituted,  or  by  doing  violence  to  them.''  "  Had 
fate  reserved  him  to  our  times,"  says  Burke,  alluding 
to  the  tyranny  of  Henry  VIII.,  "  four  technical 
terms  would  have  done  his  business  and  saved  him 
all  this  trouble, — he  needed  nothing  more  than  one 
short  form  of  incantation — Philosophy,  Light,  Liber- 
ty, the  Rights  of  Man."  "Nothing,"  says  Guizot, 
"  has  a  more  certain  tendency  to  ruin  a  people  than 
a  habit  of  accepting  words  and  appearances  as  reali- 
ties. While  the  shouts  of  unity  and  fraternity  re- 
sound among  us,  they  are  responded  to  by  social 
war,"  &c.  A  train  of  reasoning  in  favour  of  distinct 
orders  and  an  established  church  runs  through  the 
two  works,  and  a  kindred  appeal  to  innate  human 
affections  and  moral  responsibility.  It  is  probable 
that  the  terms  of  science  and  the  imagery  of  litera- 
ture will  perpetually  vary  with  new  discoveries  and 
the  advance  of  social  refinement ;  but  there  is  an 
identity  in  human  nature,  in  its  laws,  wants,  endow- 
ments, and  tendencies  that  renders  just  inferences 
from  them,  especially  when  made  with  perspicuity 
and  elegance  of  style,  interesting  to  the  thinker  of 
every  age.  Hence  the  renown  of  Burke  as  a  philo- 
sophical essayist  on  government  and  society. 

The  next  source  of  his  rhetorical  gifts  was  various 
and  precise  knowledge.  In  early  life  his  reading 
was  desultory  but  incessant.     He  seems  to  have  in- 


BURKE.  219 

tuitively   known   the   applicability   of  all   truth   to 
human  culture ;  for  while  he  perused,  with  zest,  his- 
tory as  the  storehouse  of  the  past,  he  equally  culti- 
vated poetry  as  quickening  to  the  sympathies  and 
suggestive  of  the  beautiful.      His  observation  had 
the  same  range.      He  noted  a  mill  not  less  than  a 
minster — the  one    taught   him   a   principle   in  me- 
chanics and  the  other  in  architectural  beauty.     He 
recorded  the  statistics  and  delighted  in  the  practice 
of  agriculture,  while,  with  kindred  intelligence,  he 
made  a  taste  for  the  fine  arts  a  careful  study.     It 
w^as  the  same,  too,  in  conversation.     No  one  he  en- 
countered failed  to  contribute  to  his  stock  of  ideas. 
He  could  discuss  a  portrait  with  Sir  Joshua,  a  ques- 
tion in  philology  with  Johnson,  an  elocutionary  point 
with  Garrick,  manures  with  a  farmer,  and  costume 
with  a  lady.     Thus  despising  no  source  of  informa- 
tion, continually  storing  his  mind  with  every  kind  of 
facts,  natural,  historical,  and  social,  when  he  medi- 
tated upon    a   topic,    illustrations   rushed  from   his 
memory,  and  were  readily  marshalled  to  sustain  an 
argument,   or  combined  by  his  glowing  fancy  into 
brilliant  and  striking  metaphors.     It  was  from  this 
exuberance  and  variety  of  knowledge,  that  his  fluency 
as  an  orator,  in  part,  arose,  as  well  as  the  sponta- 
neous richness  of  his  conversation ;  and  that  imme- 
diate recognition  of  his  superiority  which  led  «lhe 
surly  lexicographer  to  say  that,  encountered  under  a 
shed  in  the  rain,  he  would  be  known  at  once  as  an 
extraordinary  man.      The   quickness,  indeed,  with 


220  THE  RHETORICIAN. 

which  he  appropriated  facts  is  evinced  in  his  speeches 
and  writings  on  France,  America,  and  India.  One 
who  had  dwelt  long  in  those  countries  could  scarcely 
speak  of  them  with  a  more  graceful  familiarity.  He 
explored  not  only  the  data  but  the  associations  of 
every  subject ;  and  his  acquisitions  came  forth  with  a 
fulness  and  alacrity  that  rendered  them  doubly  im- 
pressive. He  had  an  emphatic  manner  of  intro- 
ducing incidental  pictures  which  vivified  all  the  facts 
previously  cited — as  in  the  memorable  allusion  to  the 
unfortunate  Queen  of  France,  the  description  of  Miss 
M'Crea's  murder,  and  of  the  New  England  whale 
fishery. 

Comparison  is  one  of  the  most  effective  rhetorical 
weapons,  though  rarely  encountered  in  perfection. 
A  striking  metaphor  arrests  the  uncultivated  mind, 
while  a  beautiful  one  gratifies  the  refined  taste. 
Burke  excelled  in  both.  His  images  indicate  some- 
times peculiar  ingenuity  and  sometimes  a  poetical 
imagination.  They  are  invariably  effective,  and 
add  greatly  to  the  living  charm  of  his  oratory* 
Open  at  any  page,  and  we  meet  them.  Let  us 
quote  at  random.  ''After  all,"  he  says  in  a  letter, 
"  a  man  will  make  more  by  the  figures  of  arith- 
metic than  the  figures  of  rhetoric,  unless  he  can  get 
into  the  trade-winds,  and  then  he  may  sail  secure 
ov^i'  Pactolean  sands."  In  a  speech,  referring  to 
the  apathetic  condition  of  the  Spanish  monarchy, 
"What  can  we  expect  of  her?"  he  asks,  "mighty, 
indeed,  but  unwieldy,  vast  in  bulk  but  inert  in  spirit 


BURKE.  221 

— a  whale  stranded  upon  the  sea-shore  of  Europe." 
His  description  of  Chatham's  administration  is  feli- 
citous in  another  vein :  "A  cabinet  so  variously  inlaid, 
such  a  piece  of  diversified  mosaic,  such  a  tessellated 
pavement  without  cement — here  a  bit  of  black  stone 
and  there  a  bit  of  white — patriots  and  courtiers, 
kings,  friends,  and  republicans,  whigs  and  tories,'' 
&c.  In  relation  to  the  English  clubs  of  French 
sympathizers,  he  says  :  "  Do  not  imagine  that  our 
contemptuous  neglect  of  their  abilities  is  a  general 
mark  of  acquiescence  in  their  opinions.  No  such 
thing,  I  assure  you.  Because  half-a-dozen  grass- 
hoppers, under  a  fern,  make  the  field  ring  with  their 
importunate  clink,  while  thousands  of  great  cattle, 
reposing  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  British  oak,  chew 
the  cud  and  are  silent,  pray  do  not  imagine  that 
those  who  make  the  noise  are  the  only  inhabitants  of 
the  field,  that,  of  course,  they  are  many  in  number,- 
or  that,  after  all,  they  are  other  than  the  little, 
shrivelled,  meagre,  hopping,  though  loud  and  trou- 
blesome insects  of  the  hour."  The  withering  sar- 
casm of  this  figure  is  only  equalled  by  that  of  Sydney 
Smith,  who  said,  speaking  of  an  insignificant  but 
mischievous  person,  that — '^  in  a  country  intersected 
by  dikes  a  rat  may  inundate  a  province."  But  the 
significance  and  brilliancy  of  a  metaphor  is  diminished 
by  gleaning  it  from  the  context ;  and  this  is  especially 
true  in  regard  to  those  of  Burke.  The  mind  is 
warmed  for  their  reception  by  previous  argument  or 
appeal ;  and  they  often  rise  in  majestic  beauty  from 

19* 


222  THE  RHETORICIAN. 

the  tide  of  his  glowing  rhetoric,  like  Aphrodite  from 
the  sea. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  mental  and  verbal  charac- 
teristics of  Burke,  but  to  form  an  adequate  idea  of 
the  man  or  even  of  his  rhetoric,  it  is  indispensable  to 
consider  his  physical  temperament  and  his  moral 
nature.  The  former  was  of  that  sanguine,  nervous 
kind,  both  active  and  susceptible,  which  gives  force 
and  vivacity  to  expression.  Indeed,  we  ascribe 
Burke's  pre-eminence,  in  no  small  degree,  to  the 
happy  blending  in  his  constitution  of  English  and 
Irish  traits — the  one  imparting  vigour  of  thought 
and  the  other  tenderness  and  enthusiasm.  He  has 
been  called  "a  terrific  accuser;"  but  combativeness 
is  essential  to  an  eflFective  rhetorician.  Its  excite- 
ment, when  the  case  justifies,  is  absolutely  necessary 
in  the  attack  and  defence  of  opinion,  in  the  arraign- 
ment of  the  guilty  and  the  vindication  of  the  injured ; 
but  not  less  desirable  is  its  latent  influence— giving 
a  certain  firmness,  precision,  and  energy  both  to  ideas 
and  style.  We  see  its  bracing  effect  in  all  Burke's 
elaborate  efibrts.  There  is  an  aim  in  each,  of  which 
he  never  loses  sight  and  toward  which  every  flight  of 
fancy,  and  ebullition  of  satire,  and  pathos  of  appeal 
is  ardently  directed.  Yet  the  tenor  of  his  writings 
evinces  a  generosity  of  feeling,  warm  afiection, 
loyalty,  and  a  certain  nobleness,  especially  capti- 
vating when  contrasted  with  the  pettiness  and  chi- 
canery that  usually  deform  political  aspirants.  The 
permanency  of  his  early  attachments,  his  liberal  and 


BURKE.  223 

unostentatious  kindness  to  indigent  genius — as  exhi- 
bited in  the  instances  of  Barry  and  Crabbe,  his 
"desperate  fidelity"  to  Hamilton,  and  his  intense 
parental  anguish,  indicate  how  sincere  was  the  sensi- 
bility and  devotedness  that  breathe  in  his  works. 
Even  Johnson's  arbitrary  will  was  soothed  to  courte- 
ous abeyance  by  Burke.  Few  passages  in  the  latter's 
writings  are  more  characteristic  than  his  defence  of 
nobility.  His  veneration  for  the  time-hallowed,  the 
renowned,  the  sublime  in  nature  and  association, 
is  revealed  by  his  reflections,  as  a  youth,  on  first 
entering  Westminster  Abbey;  and  by  the  solemn 
beauty  of  his  pleadings  for  the  sacred  and  the  vene- 
rable. It  was  not  a  trick  of  rhetoric  for  such  a  man 
to  lament  the  decline  of  chivalry.  Noble  sentiments 
were  his  birthright,  and  he  knew  from  experience 
the  mortification  of  realizing  that  the  age  in  which 
he  lived  denied  them  scope,  and  that  the  people  with 
whom  he  mingled  often  exhibited  a  hopeless  incapa- 
city of  recognition  in  their  behalf.  He  intuitively 
discerned,  also,  the  cold  selfishness  of  a  mere  theorist 
— "Nothing  can  be  conceived,"  he  writes,  "more 
hard  than  the  heart  of  a  thorough  metaphysician." 

But  the  excellence  of  Burke's  heart  is  most  ad- 
mirably evinced  in  his  eloquent  advocacy  of  sentiment 
— in  its  highest  significance,  as  essential  to  the  dig- 
nity and  progress  of  man.  This  is  one  of  those 
peculiarities  that  distinguish  the  universal  from  the 
partisan  writer,  and  justify  the  declaration  of  Mack- 
intosh, that  Burke  was   the   most   philosophical  of 


8^4  THE  RHETORICIAN. 

statesmen.  It  also  explains  why  the  most  satisfactory 
revelation  of  his  genius  was  colloquial.  There  was 
too  much  nature  in  him  for  acquirement  to  overlay, 
or  for  diplomacy  to  pervert,  and  the  less  artificial  the 
medium  the  greater  the  exuberance  of  his  mind.  He 
recognised  the  normal  not  less  than  the  temporary  in 
humanity ;  and  felt  that  the  beautiful  and  endearing 
in  social  existence  was  not  less  a  vital  interest  of  his 
race  than  the  principles  of  government.  Hence  he 
reproaches  the  French  innovators  in  terms  of  the 
most  attractive  yet  lofty  wisdom  :  "  All  the  pleasing 
illusions  which  made  power  gentle  and  obedience 
liberal,  which  harmonized  the  different  shades  of  life, 
and  which,  by  a  bland  assimilation,  incorporated  into 
politics,  the  sentiments  which  beautify  and  soften 
private  society,  are  to  be  dissolved  by  this  new,  con- 
quering empire  of  light  and  reason.  All  the  decent 
drapery  of  life  is  to  be  rudely  torn  off;  all  the  super- 
added ideas,  furnished  from  the  wardrobe  of  a  moral 
imagination,  which  the  heart  owns  and  the  under- 
standing ratifies  as  necessary  to  cover  the  defects  of 
our  naked,  shivering  nature,  and  to  raise  it  to  dignity 
in  our  own  estimation,  are  to  be  exploded  as  a  ridicu- 
lous, absurd,  and  antiquated  fashion.'' 

It  is  generally  admitted  that  the  most  successful 
oratory  disappoints  in  the  reading,  not  only  from  the 
absence  of  elocutionary  charms,  but  on  account  of  the 
somewhat  exaggerated  terms,  which,  though  orally 
impressive,  will  not  bear  the  calm  eye  of  meditation. 
One  of  the  greatest  proofs  of  Burke's  originality  as 


I 


BURKE.  225 

a  rhetorician,  is  that  his  speeches  are  so  effective  on 
perusal.  There  is  substantial  thought  enough  to 
sustain  whatever  ornament  he  chooses  to  display ; 
and  the  direct  manner  which  the  habit  of  public 
address  induces,  only  gives  vitality  to  his  writings, 
without,  in  the  slightest  degree,  lessening  their  dig- 
nity as  deliberate  compositions.  The  philosopher 
and  the  poet  are  co-evident  in  his  most  felicitous 
eflforts ;  the  reason  and  the  sentiment  of  the  question 
alternate ;  and  we  often  enjoy  while  communing  with 
him  the  delightful  consciousness  of  having  our  judg- 
ment convinced  and  our  sympathies  won,  at  the  same 
time.  This  union  of  delicacy  and  power  is  almost 
unprecedented.  To  be  vivid  and  profound  is  seldom 
the  distinction  of  the  same  writer.  We  instinctively 
separate  in  literature  the  two  characteristics,  and  turn 
to  one  class  of  authors  for  emotion  and  to  another  for 
thought,  as  if  to  invent  and  to  argue  equally  well, 
were  scarcely  to  be  expected  from  the  same  indi- 
vidual. From  Burke,  however,  may  be  gleaned  the 
most  dry  and  perspicuous  collocation  of  facts,  the 
strongest  array  of  reasons,  the  most  imaginative  con- 
ceptions, and  the  most  touching  pictures.  His  most 
universal  charm  is  a  style  so  copious  as  to  enrich  the 
student's  vocabulary  by  the  aptitude  and  flow  of 
words,  to  gratify  the  taste  by  its  elegance,  and  the 
ear  by  its  musical  periods.  Withal  it  is  a  manly 
style.  Burke  is  not  fastidious  in  his .  choice  of  epi- 
thets or  illustrations  to  the  extent  of  weakening  his 
force  of  statement.     He  can  use  the  most  homely  as 


226  THE  RHETORICIAN. 

well  as  the  most  classic  phrases  and  figures.     He 
does  not  sacrifice  truth  to  beauty,  but  aims  to  render 
them   mutually  illustrative.      Few   English   writers 
boast  passages  that  exhibit  so  clearly  the  dignity  of 
the  language,  its  facility  of  application,  and  its  per- 
suasive grace.     It  is  on  this  account  that  meagre 
extracts  do  him  little  justice.     Thus  read,  he  might 
be  sometimes  thought  bombastic,  sometimes  verbose, 
and  occasionally  too  colloquial  or  too  stilted;    but 
perused  consecutively,  the  language  and  manner  keep 
pace  so  deftly  with  the  course  of  the  argument  and 
the  successive  phases  of  the  question,  that  the  en- 
tire efiect  is  singularly  harmonious  and  satisfactory ; 
and  the  mind  is   animated  and  tempered  as  by  a 
lofty  strain  of  melody,  uttered  by  a  deep,  yet  sweet 
voice,  ^'  when  on  the  singer's  lip  expires  the  finished 
song."     To  this  union  of  consummate  ability  with 
earnest  and  just  feeling,  is  referable  the  extraordinary 
balance  of  fancy  and  sense,  the  practical  and  the 
poetical  in  Burke.     His  mind  was  essentially  specu- 
lative, he  delighted  in  curious  observation,  his  range 
of  inquiry  was  broad  and  refined ;  yet  to  public  affairs 
he  brought  a  calm,  practical  judgment,  a  sobriety  of 
mood,  a  perception  of  the  actual  relations  of  things, 
and  the  absolute  claims  of  an  exigency,  as  if  he  had 
been  wont  to  deal  only  in  matters  of  fact,  and  had 
drawn  every  lesson  from  stern  experience.     This  is 
the  more  remarkable  in  one  who  could,  at  pleasure, 
indulge  in  such  excursions  of  imagination  and  senti- 
ment.    An  able  critic  has  declared  that  in  the  latter 
regard  he  was  " unapproached  by  any  orator;"  and 


BURKE.  227 

the  wonder  is  that  the  reasoning  acumen  and  pro- 
fundity co-existed  with  this  capacity,  in  equal  power. 
To  this  uncommon  alliance  of  gifts  we  ascribe  his 
moderation.     When  the  views  of  Fox  and  Pitt  were 
quoted  in  opposition  to  his  own,  he  said — "  I  prefer 
the  collective  wisdom  of  ages  to  the  abilities  of  any 
two  men  living.''     He  would  go  all  lengths  with  no 
party,  nor  yield  implicit  faith  .to  any  mortal.     He 
was  too  comprehensive  to  please  a  faction ;  and  the 
more  general  his  subject  and  the  less  connected  with 
temporary  objects,  the  more  triumphant  his  discussion 
of  it.     There  was,  therefore,  no  little  truth  in  the 
famous   line   in  which   Goldsmith   summed   up   the 
career  of  his  illustrious  friend: — "he  gave  up  to 
party  what  was  meant  for  mankind;"  for  the  reader 
of  the  present  day,  to  whom  many  of  the  questions 
to  which  he  was  devoted  are  comparatively  indifferent, 
cannot  but  lament  that  historical,  ethical,  or  philoso- 
phical themes  of  vast  and  lasting  interest,  had  not 
exclusively  employed  his   pen.      The  essay  on  the 
"  Sublime  and  Beautiful,"  and  the  work  on  the  French 
Revolution,  by  their  immediate  reference  to  natural 
and  social  truths,  elicited  his  finest  powers ;  and  elo- 
quently suggest  how  admirably  such  discussions  were 
adapted  both  to  his  abilities  and  his  taste.    Here  and 
there,  indeed,  throughout  his  speeches,  opportunities 
arise  for  expatiating  on  a  universal  truth  or  an  im- 
portant principle,  which  he  always  seizes  with  the 
avidity  of  a  mind  to  which  isolated  details  and  tran- 
sient causes  are  a  hindrance,  and  the  perspective  of 
great  ideas  a  necessary  inspiration. 


t  Irlinlnr. 


MARK  AKENSIDE. 


There  is  a  fine  engraved  likeness  of  Akenside, 
after  a  portrait  by  Pond,  in  the  illustrated  Memoirs 
of  eminent  British  Physicians,  which  we  can  readily 
believe  authentic  from  its  severe  and  chaste  linea- 
ments. They  are  stamped  with  intelligence,  pride, 
and  refinement ; — but,  with  something  of  the  delicate 
outline  of  Raphael's  face,  they  are  destitute  of  that 
tender  expression  which  makes  his  features  almost 
angelic.  It  is  a  countenance  very  indicative  of  in- 
tellectual nobility, — breathing  of  self-subsistence  and 
an  aspiring  mood.  Its  beauty  is  that  of  mind  and 
rectitude  rather  than  of  sensibility  and  enthusiasm. 
f  Akenside  belongs  to  the  classical  species  of  men — 
those  who  regard  order  as  essential  and  strive  to  har- 
monize, by  a  nice  standard,  the  products  of  thought. 
It  is  a  class  almost  obsolete.  So  many  conflicting 
agencies  act  upon  the  mind  in  this  age  of  social  ex- 
citement, that  one  must  isolate  himself,  if  he  would 
conform  to  a  strict  discipline  either  of  moral  feeling 
or  intellectual  taste.  In  fact,  it  is  observable  that 
characters  that  instinctively  seek  the  smooth  and 
trimmed  pathway  of  refined  and  scholarly  culture, 


MARK  AKENSIDE.  229 

are  usually  considered  proud,  reserved,  and  imprac- 
ticable. They  seem  to  constitute  a  kind  of  mental 
aristocracy,  and  are  truly  genial  only  with  their 
peers.  This  results  from  the  very  nature  of  the  case.' 
It  is  quite  impossible  for  one  who  is  sensitive  and  as- 
piring to  mingle  with  the  crowd,  unless  he  ^'quenches 
the  familiar  smile  with  an  austere  regard  of  control." 
The  refinement  of  perception  and  elevated  ideal  of 
sentiment,  which  we  admire  in  the  writings  and  con- 
verse of  such  men,  is,  in  no  small  degree,  owing  to 
the  fact  that  they  have  kept  apart  from  the  herd  and 
never  long  been  in  intimate  contact  with  inferior 
minds.  The  entrenchments  of  self-respect  so  for- 
bidding to  the  uninitiated,  often  conceal  rare  social 
graces.  The  chill  barrier  of  reserve — like  the  Al- 
pine snows — not  unfrequently  hides  the  most  lovely 
flow^ers ;  and  the  sympathies  that  are  repressed,  in 
one  direction — like  the  stream  prisoned  in  a  buried 
aqueduct — only  gush  more  loftily  at  the  chosen  out- 
let. Hence  it  is  somewhat  unreasonable  to  complain 
of  the  fastidious  tastes  and  stiff  manners  of  those 
whose  works  are  chiefly  attractive  from  their  dainty 
or  grand  qualities.  These  exist  by  virtue  of  the  dis- 
crimination of  their  authors ;  and  we  scarcely  expect 
the  same  individual  to  be  a  delicate  limner  or  a 
sublime  bard,  and  a  jovial  companion  to  strangers, 
or  a  felicitous  conformist  to  ordinary  circumstances. 
There  must  always  be  extremes  both  of  appreciation 
and  prejudice  in  regard  to  men  of  a  classical  turn, 
according  as  they  are  judged  by  those  who  fraternize 

20 


230  THE  SCHOLAR. 

with  them,  or  such  as  only  approach  the  battlements 
of  pride. 

Mark  Akenside  was  the  subject  of  this  diversity  of 
judgment ;  for  while  our  biographer — with  whom  he 
had  only  professional  intercourse — dwells  on  his  so- 
lemn air,  his  stiffly-curled  wig,  precise  attire,  and 
petulant  requisitions ; — the  friend  to  whom  he  can- 
didly revealed  himself,  speaks  of  his  table-talk,  on  a 
summer-day,  as  overflowing  with  the  noblest  senti- 
ments, in  language  worthy  of  Plato.  One  of  his 
acquaintance  says  he  looked  as  if  he  could  never  be 
undressed ;  while  another  seems  oblivious  of  his  per- 
sonal traits  in  noting  the  eloquence  of  his  conversation. 
We  have  a  key,  however,  to  his  social  character  in 
the  single  trait  ascribed  to  him  by  Bucke — that  "  he 
hated  to  be  all  things  to  all  men."  \  This  feeling  in- 
volves a  moral  principle  as  well  as  a  law  of  taste,  j  It 
is  doubtless  true  that  coarse,  ignorant  and  petty 
minds  are  repulsive  to  such  a  man  as  Akenside, 
merely  because  they  incessantly  offend  taste ;  but  he 
possessed  also  a  quality  which  often  accompanies  deli- 
cacy of  feeling, — and  that  is  integrity.  His  nature 
rebelled  against  hypocrisy.  He  knew,  by  experience, 
the  whole  significance  of  true  friendship  ;  and  he  could 
not  profane  her  sacred  name.  To  conform  for  the 
mere  sake  of  popularity,  appeared  to  him  unmanly 
and  dishonest.  His  nature  would  not  overflow  in  the 
presence  of  strangers,  because  pride  was  far  more 
active  within  him  than  vanity.     He  was  emphatically 


MARK  AKENSIDE.  231 

one  of  that  order  of  men  whose  happiness  is  less 
promoted  by  display  than  self-respect. 

Accordingly,  his  foibles  were  those  of  pride.  He^ 
would  never  have  been  liked  by  the  philanthropic  ] 
literati  of  our  day.-"  They  would  have  thought  him 
sadly  deficient  in  humanity.  And  yet,  although  he  \ 
could  not  go  near  the  heart  of  poverty  like  Crabbe, 
or  touch  the  inner  springs  of  human  emotion  like 
Burns,  or  identify  himself  with  the  common  and 
minute  in  nature  like  Wordsworth — he  is  declared 
by  those  who  best  knew  him,  to  have  been  singularly  i 
benevolent  and  just.  His  cast  of  mind  was  elegant,! 
his  tone  of  feeling  refined,  and  hence  it  was  im*^ 
possible  for  his  sympathies  to  be  universal,  or  his 
associations  indiscriminate.  These  characteristics, 
however,  served  a  poetical  office.  They  enabled  him 
to  lose  himself  in  high  contemplations,  to  live  in  a 
comprehensive  sphere  of  ideas,  to  enter  into  affinity 
with  the  choicest  spirits  of  the  past,  to  minister  to 
the  improvement  of  the  aspiring,  and  habitually  to 
rise  above  degrading  and  limited  views.  Even  demo- 
crats and  humanitarians  must  have  patience  with  this 
species  of  aristocracy  on  account  of  its  intellectual 
bequests.  Elegance  is  not  merely  conventional; 
taste  is  not  wholly  selfish;  nor  does  exclusiveness 
necessarily  imply  contempt  for  others ;  they  are  some- 
times associated  with  the  same  degree,  though  a  dif- 
ferent kind  of  nobility  of  soul,  which  we  honour  in 
rustic  bards  and  peasant-heroes ;  and  by  such  would 
be  recognised,  though  in  the  guise  of  the  scholar  and 


222  THE  SCHOLAR. 

the  gentleman.  There  is  a  physiological  as  well  as 
a  metaphysical  truth  in  Akenside's  description  of 
persons,  "  Avhose  souls  but  half  inform  their  bodies ;" 
and  a  justifiable  reason  for  his  impatience  in  their 
society.  Expression,  as  a  human  attribute,  depends 
upon  the  activity  of  the  soul  as  manifest  in  organiza- 
tion;  and  personal  sympathy  is  nothing  more  than 
that  relation  between  individuals  through  which  they 
mutually  quicken  and  call  forth  one  another's  thoughts 
and  emotions.  There  are  those  whose  material  frames 
seem  but  partially  vital  with  moral  life,  who  do  not 
assimilate  the  nutritive  elements  yielded  by  nature 
and  society ;  and  hence,  are  in  a  crude,  inharmonious 
state.  Such  people  make  the  most  uncomfortable 
drafts  upon  more  sensitive  and  complete  beings.  It 
really  appears  as  if  there  was  an  unconscious  attempt 
to  make  up  their  deficient  consciousness- — or,  to  recur 
to  Akenside's  figure,  inform  the  other  half  of  their 
bodies  with  the  spiritual  force  of  their  companion. 
According  to  the  magnetisers,  this  is  an  unfair  pro- 
cess. Such  individuals  weigh,  like  an  incubus,  upon 
the  animal  spirits  of  those  more  finely  organized ;  or 
drain,  even  to  inanition,  their  ''mens  divinior;"  and 
it  is  to  this  that  the  poet  alludes. 

The  classicism,  if  we  may  so  call  it,  of  Akenside, 
betrayed  itself  in  his  fastidious  habits,  his  chiro- 
graphy,  and  his  elegant  quotations ;  and  is  pleasant- 
ly evinced  in  such  terms  of  expression  as  "  Tully's 
curule  chair."  He  acknowledges  with  zeal,  his  am- 
bition to 


MARK  AKENSIDE.  233 

Tune  to  Attic  themes  the  British  lyre, 

and  exclaims,  with  the  zest  of  a  scholar. 

From  the  bower 
Where  wisdom  sat  with  her  Athenian  sons, 
Could  but  my  happy  hand  entwine  a  wreath 
Of  Plato's  olive  with  the  Mantuan  bay  ! 

Yet  occasionally  the  recondite  gives  way  to  the 
natural ;  and  a  fine  image  reveals  the  true  poetic  im- 
pulse. Thus,  in  analyzing  beauty,  he  has  this  ex- 
quisite figure, 

The  third  ascent 
To  symmetry  adds  colour ;  thus  the  pearl 
'    Shines  in  the  concave  of  its  purple  bed, 

And  painted  shells  along"  some  winding  shore 
Catch,  with  indented  folds,  the  glancing  sun. 

But  more  frequently  his  metaphors  are  drawn 
from  the  past.  There  is  a  fine  instance  of  this  in 
the  description  of  the  variety  of  human  tastes  and 
avocations : 

For  as  old  Memnon's  image  long  renowned 
Through  fabling  Egypt,  at  the  genial  touch 
Of  morning,  from  its  inmost  frame  sent  forth 
Spontaneous  music,  so  doth  nature's  hand 
To  certain  attributes  which  matter  claims, 
Adapt  the  finer  organs  of  the  mind. 

That  the  peculiar  social  theory  we  have  designated, 
was  native  to  Akenside,  his  poem  vividly  suggests; 
and  it  is  equally  apparent  that  he  justified  exclusive- 

20* 


234  THE    SCHOLAR. 

ness  and  reserve  on  the  principle  of  self-improvement 
and  love  of  the  true  and  beautiful : 

Nor  be  my  thoughts 
Presumptuous  counted,  if  amid  the  calm 
Which  Hespcr  sheds  along  the  vernal  heaven, 
If  I,  from  vulgar  superstition's  walk 
Impatient  steal,  and  from  the  unseemly  rites 
Of  splendid  adulation,  to  attend 
With  hymns  thy  presence  in  the  sylvan  shade, 
By  their  nialignant  presence  unprofaned. 


Raise  me  above  the  vulgar's  breath, 
Pursuit  of  fortune,  fear  of  death, 

And  all  in  life  thaVs  mean  ; 
Still  true  to  reason  be  my  plan, 
Still  let  my  actions  speak  the  man. 

Through  every  various  scene. 

His  literary  preferences  point  in  the  same  direc- 
tion. He  was  a  lover  of  Plato  and  Cicero  among 
the  ancients, — of  Shaftesbury  in  modern  literature, 
and  of  Timoleon  as  an  epic  character.  It  is  equally 
manifest  in  his  sense  of  the  desirableness  of  ''  com- 
posure and  stillness;"  and  in  the  fact,  which  has 
been  truly  cited,  that,  in  his  writings,  ''  his  allusions 
to  himself  are  always  in  the  best  style  of  egotism." 
Indirectly,  too,  we  find  the  same  indications  in  his 
sensitiveness  in  regard  to  his  humble  birth.  He  was 
mortified,  like  Byron,  at  the  hitch  in  his  gait — not 
for  itself  as  a  personal  deformity,  but  on  account  of 
its  having  been  caused,  when  a  child,  by  the  fall  of 
one  of  his  father's  cleavers — and  thus  becoming  a 
memorial  of  the  paternal  craft — that  of  a  butcher. 


MARK  AKENSIDE.  235 

In  this  species  of  character  there  is,  indeed,  an  in- 
evitable deficiency  of  popular  qualities.  It  implies  a 
want  of  general  adaptation,  and  is  equally  opposed 
to  the  facility  of  address  which  belongs  to  the 
courtier,  and  the  fruitfulness  in  expedients  so  requi- 
site for  the  diplomatist.  As  a  consequence  of  such 
a  nature,  the  self-love  of  those  whom  the  individual 
approaches,  is  often  wounded.  His  mood  sometimes 
exercises  an  indomitable  supremacy ;  or  rather  he  is 
possessed  by  his  idiosyncrasy.  Instead  of  observing 
the  peculiarities  of  others  with  a  view  of  disarming 
and  conciliating  them,  he  is  absorbed,  concentrated, 
individual.  Unless  there  exists  a  point  of  sympathy 
or  a  capacity  of  recognition  between  him  and  a  com- 
panion, they  part  as  much  strangers  as  they  came 
together.  There  must  be  a  vivid  perception  of  the 
latent  and  the  estimable  in  character,  a  wisdom  or  a 
generosity  of  soul  in  the  one,  to  avoid  a  harsh  or 
narrow  judgment  of  the  other.  In  a  word,  society 
should  be  composed  of  heroes  or  philosophers  to 
aJGFord  any  vantage-ground  for  these  seemingly  im- 
practicable men:  whereas  it  is  confessedly  an  arena 
where  the  first  law  is  to  set  aside  personality  and 
yield  implicit  obedience  to  Bentham's  doctrine — ^Hhe 
greatest  good  to  the  greatest  number."  It  is  quite 
impossible  to  advocate  the  claims  of  this  class  on 
general  social  grounds :  the  only  way  to  defend 
them  from  severe  reprobation  is  by  showing  that  the 
want  of  aptitude  for  popularity,  does  not,  as  a  thing 
of  course,  include  the  absence  of  noble  and  loveable 


236  THE  SCHOLAR. 

characteristics — a  truth  which  the  thoughtless  inva- 
riably overlook.  So  far  from  this  being  the  case, 
there  actually  exists  an  order  of  gifted  men  who 
have  sedulously  acted  on  the  principle,  that  a  kind 
of  voluntary  monachism  is  essential  to  the  integrity 
of  being.  It  is  this  very  course  which  has  occa- 
sioned the  discussion  in  regard  to  Goethe's  goodness 
of  heart.  A  certain  unapproachableness  beyond  the 
outworks  of  self — a  warding  off  of  extreme  confi- 
dence— a  kind  of  abeyance  of  the  sympathies — was 
ever  observable  in  him,  and  has  been  remarked  of 
many  gifted  persons.  It  is  a  significant  anecdote 
which  records  a  bet  once  proposed  and  accepted  at  a 
party  of  Washington's  friends — that  one  should  ap- 
proach him,  in  company,  with  a  friendly  slap  on  the 
shoulder.  The  thing,  it  is  true,  was  done,  but  so 
awkwardly,  and  followed  by  such  entire  discomfiture 
from  the  General's  look  of  quiet  surprise — that  in- 
stant repentance  followed.  We  do  not  quarrel  with 
the  moral  dignity  indicated  by  this  circumstance — 
so  appropriate  to  the  high  aims  and  exalted  position 
of  the  matchless  chief,  and  yet,  by  a  curious  perver- 
sity, make  no  allowance  for  the  shrinking  tempera- 
ment, isolated  consciousness,  and  refined  instincts  of 
those  whose  intellectual  endowments  and  physical 
organization  make  retirement  of  manner  and  indivi- 
duality of  life  absolutely  necessary.  That  there  is 
much  of  utility  sacrificed  by  the  process  is  undenia- 
ble ;  that  an  apparently  culpable  want  of  considera- 
tion for  the  feelings  and  enjoyments  of  others  is 


I 


MARK  AKENSIDE.  28? 

suggested,  we  cannot  but  admit.  But,  when  the 
inadequacy  is  meekly  confessed — when  we  remember 
how,  in  the  early  ages  of  Christianity,  it  was  so  uni- 
versally deemed  right  for  such  social  tyros  to  adopt 
a  conventual  life  ;  when  we  reflect  that  no  human 
beings  have  won  such  devoted  love  from  the  few,  and 
left  such  priceless  legacies  to  the  world ; — it  seems 
both  inconsiderate  and  ungrateful  to  utter  reproaches, 
or  weigh  their  merits  in  the  same  balance  with  those 
who  never  discovered  in  themselves  any  obstacle  to 
being  "all  things  to  all  men." 

There  is  a  famous  repartee  of  a  friend  of  Aken- 
side,  while  discussing  with  him  the  claims  of  medi- 
cine, that  "  the  ancients  endeavoured  to  make  a 
science  of  it  and  failed  ;  and  the  moderns  to  make  it 
a  trade  and  succeeded."  The  poet,  however,  enter- 
tained a  high  idea  of  the  dignity  of  his  art.  He 
regarded  it  in  the  broad  light  of  philosophy — as 
based  upon  the  laws  of  nature  and  susceptible  of  in- 
finite advancement.  His  manners  doubtless  unfitted 
him  for  practical  success  in  a  pursuit  demanding  the 
utmost  felicity  of  address  and  tact  in  intercourse  ; 
but  there  is  no  question  that  his  inquiring  and  well- 
stored  mind,  and  his  habits  of  intense  reflection, 
eminently  fitted  him  to  discover,  while  his  literary 
skill  enabled  him  to  promulgate  the  truths  of  science. 

It  is  said  that  his  poetical  reputation  diminished 
his  medical  authority.  The  world  appears  extremely 
disinclined  to  accord  any  practical  success  to  those 
endowed  with  superior  imaginations.     The  injustice 


838  THE  SCHOLAR. 

of  this  prejudice  has  been  often  refuted  in  the  case 
of  accountants,  clergymen,  and  lawyers,  who  have 
been  favourites  of  the  muse ;  but  there  is,  perhaps,  no 
instance  to  which  it  applies  with  so  little  force  as 
that  of  a  physician.  His  daily  business  opens  a  vast 
and  peculiar  field  of  observation,  both  in  regard  to 
nature  and  man.  He  sees  the  mysteries  of  the  heart 
laid  bare  by  the  encroachments  of  pain  and  the  ap- 
proach of  death.  He  has  to  do  with  his  race  under 
the  least  artificial  conditions ;  and  it  is  his  vocation 
to  study  the  varied  influences  which  operate  on  the 
mind.  He  is  near  the  mother  ''when  she  feels,  for 
the  first  time,  her  first-born's  breath.'*  He  witnesses 
the  last  fitful  flashes  of  reawakened  memory,  when 
departing  age  lives  over,  at  life's  close,  the  scenes 
enacted  at  its  dawn.  The  benign  and  gifted  physi- 
cian is  a  priest  at  the  altar  of  humanity,  and  it  is, 
therefore,  only  strange  that  her  oracles  do  not  more 
frequently  inspire  poetical,  as  they  continually  do 
scientific  revelations.  There  are,  too,  some  charm- 
ing literary  associations  connected  with  the  pro- 
fession. The  names  of  Garth  and  Arbuthnot  are 
intimately  blended  with  those  of  Pope  and  Swift; 
and  Akenside  and  Armstrong  and  Darwin  have  left 
poems  which  do  as  much  credit  to  their  discernment 
as  liberal  followers  of  the  healing  art,  as  to  their 
powers  of  imagination.  It  is,  indeed,  true,  that  in 
extensive  practice  in  a  career  which  exacts  so  much 
both  from  intellect  and  heart,  as  well  as  physical 
strength,  as  that  of  medicine,  it  is  next  to  impossible 


MARK  AKENSIDE.  286 

to  prosecute  ably  any  great  literary  undertaking; 
but  where  time  permits,  the  studies  and  relations 
incident  to  the  profession,  are,  in  no  degree,  incom- 
patible with  but  rather  favourable  to  poetry.  Hence 
Apollo  was  equally  the  god  of  song  and  physic. 
Notwithstanding  the  prejudice  to  which  we  have 
alluded  as  entertained  by  Akenside's  biographers,  he 
seems  to  have  maintained  no  common  rank  with  his 
cotemporaries.  We  infer  this  from  the  fact  that  he 
filled  several  public  medical  offices,  and  contributed 
numerous  important  papers  to  the  medical  literature, 
of  the  day.  His  long  poem  was  chiefly  written 
during  the  first  years  of  his  professional  life — when 
comparative  leisure  and  seclusion  left  him  free  to 
expatiate  in  the  realm  of  fancy.  After  he  settled  in 
Bloomsbury  Square  and  engaged  in  the  severe 
labours  of  a  London  practitioner,  it  was  by  an  occa- 
sional ode  alone,  that  he  kept  fresh  his  poetical 
vein. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  poet  was  eminent  in 
his  profession,  although  he  never  became  what  is 
termed  "a  fashionable  doctor.''  His  treatises  are 
yet  consulted.  The  systematic  habits,  thoroughly 
respectable  position,  and  undeviating  rectitude  of 
Akenside  form  a  refreshing  contrast  to  the  vaga- 
bondism of  some  of  his  country's  poets.  We  have 
no  melancholy  retrospect  of  servility — no  maudlin 
rhymes  of  the  inebriate, — no  supercilious  patron  or 
infected  jail  to  mar  the  brightness  of  his  image ;  and 
we  confess  the  imputation  of  coldness,  formality,  and 


240  THE  SCHOLAR. 

an  irritable  mood,  seem  to  us  a  far  less  painful  offset 
to  poetical  glory  than  the  sullen  bigotry  of  Young, 
the  recklessness  of  Savage,  the  morbid  despair  of 
Coleridge,  or  the  foolish  excesses  of  Byron. 

The  external  history  of  Akenside  is  singularly 
devoid  of  incident.  His  birthplace  was  Newcastle- 
upon-Tyne  ;  he  was  destined  for  the  church  by  his 
parents,  who  were  rigid  Presbyterians ;  but  the  plan 
was  soon  relinquished.  He  was  born  on  the  9th  of 
November,  1721,  wrote  and  published  verses  at  the 
age  of  sixteen,  two  years  after  became  a  student  of  me- 
dicine at  Edinburgh,  visited  Leyden,  and  resided  first 
at  Northampton,  but  removed  to  Hampstead.  The 
Pleasures  of  Imagination  appeared  in  1744,  when 
the  author  was  in  his  twenty-third  year.  It  at  once 
established  his  fame  as  a  poet,  was  translated  into 
French  by  Baron  d'Holbach,  and  into  Italian  by 
Mazza.  In  London,  he  frequented  both  clubs  and 
assemblies ;  and,  while  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  high 
reputation,  a  desirable  practice,  a  moderate  compe- 
tency, choice  friends  and  rare  intellectual  resources, 
he  died  at  the  age  of  forty-nine. — But  the  real  cha- 
racter of  a  genuine  poet  needs  not  the  illustration  of 
circumstances,  if  any  deliberate  effusion  of  his  genius 
remains.  In  the  "Pleasures  of  Imagination"  we  at 
once  discover  the  spirit,  tastes,  convictions,  and 
abilities  of  Akenside.  The  elevation  of  mind  cha- 
racteristic of  high  natures  everywhere  reveals  itself. 
He  was  an  aspirant  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word. 
He  realized  not  less  from  consciousness  than  obser- 


MARK  AKENSIDE.  241 

vation,  the  capacity  of  progress  and  virtue  innate  in 
man.  .  The  sentiment  of  veneration  was  fervent  in 
his  heart.  His  instincts  pointed  upward.  He  pos- 
sessed the  most  invaluable  of  the  poetic  tendencies 
— that  of  exalted  faith  in  the  attributes  and  destiny 
of  humanity : 

For,  from  the  birth 
Of  human  kind,  the  Sovereign  Maker  said 
That  not  in  humble,  nor  in  brief  delights, 
Not  in  the  fleeting  echoes  of  renown. 
Power's  purple  robes,  nor  pleasure's  flowery  lap, 
The  soul  shall  find  contentment,  but  from  thence 
Turning  disdainful  to  an  equal  good, 
Through  Nature's  opening  walks  enlarge  her  aims 
Till  every  bound  at  length  shall  disappear. 
And  infinite  perfection  fill  the  scene. 

The  moral  heroism  which  emanates  from  such  views, 
also  inspired  Akenside.     He  strove 

Against  the  torrent  and  the  stubborn  hill. 
To  urge  free  virtue's  steps,  and  to  her  side 
Summon  that  strong  divinity  of  soul 
Which  conquers  chance  and  fate. 

He  experienced  the  usual  extremes  of  critical 
estimation..  Pope  advised  Dodsley,  who  submitted 
to  him  the  manuscript  of  his  poem,  to  offer  "no 
niggardly  price,  as  this  was  no  every-day  writer.'' 
Boucke  declares  the  ode  to  Lord  Huntingdon  the 
finest  in  the  language, — an  opinion  in  amusing  con- 
trast with  the  characteristic  dialogue  between  John- 
son  and  Boswell,  which  appears  to  us  one  of  the 

21 


242  THE  SCHOLAR. 

most  striking  instances  recorded  of  the  prejudice  of 
the  one  and  the  presumption  of  the  other  : 

J".  I  see  they  have  published  a  splendid  edition 
of  Akenside's  works.  One  bad  ode  may  be  suffered, 
but  a  number  of  them  makes  one  sick. 

B.  Akenside's  distinguished  poem  is  on  the  Ima- 
gination, but  for  my  part,  I  could  never  admire  it  so 
much  as  most  people  do. 

J.  Sir,  I  could  not  read  it  through. 

B.  I  have  read  it  through,  but  could  observe  no 
great  power  in  it. 

This  poem  is  a  favourite  with  that  class  of  readers 
who  delight  in  beholding  the  muse  arrayed  in  the 
dignity  of  learning,  who  have  an  intense  desire  for 
ideas  in  distinction  from  fancies,  and  love  to  encoun- 
ter the  great  facts  of  nature  and  history  in  the  midst 
of  graceful  and  impressive  numbers.  Akenside 
pleases  the  learned  and  philosophic  more  than 
Wordsworth  or  Campbell.  He  abounds  in  classical 
allusions  and  expatiates  most  freely  in  the  sphere  of 
metaphysical  speculation.  Take,  for  instance,  his 
view  of  the  utility  of  beauty. 

The  general  mother  conscious  how  infirm 
Her  offspring-  tread  the  paths  of  good  and  ill, 
Thus,  to  the  choice  of  credulous  desire, 
Doth  objects  the  completest  of  their  tribe 
Distinguish  and  commend. 

***** 

In  the  following  passage  we  find  the  eclecticism  of 
the  genuine  artist  finely  indicated  : 


MARK  AKENSIDE.  243 

Whose  proud  desires  from  Nature's  homely  toil 

Oft  turn  away  fastidious ;  asking  still 
His  mind's  high  aid  to  purify  the  form 
From  gross  communion  ;  to  secure  for  ever 
From  the  meddling  hund  of  chance 
Or  rude  decay,  her  features ;  and  to  add 
Whatever  ornaments  may  suit  her  mien, 
Where'er  he  finds  them  scattered  through  the  paths 
Of  nature  or  of  fortune. 

There  is  a  want  of  simplicity  in  Akenside,  a  need- 
less introversion  of  phrases,  and  a  display  of  erudi- 
tion, which  though  often  effective  and  rhetorical,  is 
in  remarkable  contrast  to  the  more  artless  imagery 
of  later  English  poets.  Indeed,  he  was  at  first  dis- 
tinguished as  an  orator.  It  is  related  that  Robert- 
son, the  historian,  regularly  attended  the  debates  of 
a  medical  club,  in  order  to  hear  Akenside  speak. 

We  can  find  no  adequate  cause  for  the  inference 
that  Akenside  was  a  celibate  from  indifference.  On 
the  contrary,  the  evidence  is  decisive  that  he  was  a 
man  of  unaffected  and  deep  sentiment.  In  one  edi- 
tion of  his  poems,  there  is  prefixed  a  frontispiece 
representing  a  richly  attired  cavalier  stretched  upon 
a  couch,  and  waving  off  a  descending  Cupid ;  beneath 
it  is  inscribed  the  quotation, — 

Away,  away, 
Tempt  me  no  more,  insidious  Love  I 

But  if  we  turn  to  Akenside's  writings,  we  discover 
that  it  was  not  scorn  but  disappointment  which  in- 
duced this  renunciation.     He  twice  fixed  his  affec- 


244  THE  SCHOLAR. 

tions,  and  in  both  instances,  the  objects  were  sum- 
moned to  an  early  tomb.  Such  passages  as  the 
following  evince  great  natural  tenderness  and  devo- 
tion : 

Who  that  bears 
A  human  bosom,  hath  not  often  felt 
How  dear  are  all  those  ties  which  bind  our  race 
In  gentleness  together,  and  how  sweet 
Their  force,  let  fortune's  wayward  hand  the  while 
J        Be  kind  or  cruel  ? 

Ask  the  faithful  youth 
Why  the  cold  urn  of  her  whom  long  he  loved, 
So  often  fills  his  arms ;  so  often  draws 
His  lonely  footsteps  silent  and  unseen. 
To  pay  the  mournful  tribute  of  his  tears  ? 
Oh !  he  will  tell  thee  that  the  wealth  of  worlds 
Should  ne'er  seduce  his  bosom  to  forego 
Those  sacred  hours,  when  stealing  from  the  noise 
Of  care  and  envy,  sweet  remembrance  soothes, 
With  virtue's  kindest  looks,  his  aching  breast, 
And  turns  his  tears  to  rapture. 

In  his  apostrophe  to  the  Beautiful,  after  describing 
her  course  through  the  vegetable  and  animal  world, 
he  declares, 

At  length  her  favourite  mansion  and  her  throne 
She  fixed  in  woman's  form. 

He  elsewhere  calls  her  "  chief  of  terrestrial  creatures." 
Still  more  personal  allusions  occur  in  the  minor 
pieces : — 

Too  much  my  heart  of  beauty's  power  has  known, 
Too  long  to  love  hath  reason  left  her  throne  ; 


MARK  AKENSIDE.  245 

Too  long  my  genius  mourned  his  myrtle  chain, 
And  three  rich  years  of  youth  consumed  in  vain. 


Let  the  busy  or  the  wise 

View  him  with  contemptuous  eyes, 

Love  is  native  to  the  heart ; 
Guide  its  wishes  as  you  will, 
Without  love  you'll  find  it  still 

Void  in  one  essential  part. 

Me,  though  no  peculiar  fair 
Touches  with  a  lover's  care, 

Though  the  pride  of  my  desire 
Asks  immortal  Friendship's  name. 
Asks  the  palm  of  honest  fame ; 

And  the  old  heroic  lyre ; 

Though  the  day  hath  smoothly  gone, 
Or  to  lettered  leisure  known, 

Or  in  social  duty  spent. 
Yet,  at  eve,  my  lonely  breast 
Seeks  in  vain  for  perfect  rest. 

Languishes  for  true  content. 

But  if  he  was  not  permitted  to  enjoy  domestic 
happiness,  he  was  favoured,  beyond  the  common  lot, 
in  having  a  rich  and  satisfactory  experience  of  friend- 
ship. The  Invocation  to  the  Pleasures  of  Imagina- 
tion gives  us  no  overdrawn  picture  of  the  manly 
confidence,  the  permanent  esteem,  and  unvarying 
affection,  which  united  Akenside  and  Dyson.  Proud 
as  the  former  confessedly  was,  he  felt  no  scruple  in 
allowing  the  latter,  in  his  prosperity,  to  act  towards 
him  the  part  of  a  benefactor ;  and  intimate  as  was 
their  relation  for  many  years,  Dyson  never  would 

21* 


246  THE  SCHOLAR. 

give  to  the  public  a  feature  of  his  friend's  character 
or  an  incident  of  his  private  life.  These  two  facts 
prove  that  entire  trustfulness  and  instinctive  delicacy 
— at  once  so  rare  and  so  essential  to  thorough  amity, 
actually  existed  in  this  case. 

While  the  poet  lived  he  enjoyed  an  annuity  from 
his  friend  sufficient  to  release  him  from  pecuniary 
anxiety ;  and  when  he  died  that  friend  was  his  ex- 
clusive legatee.  It  is  a  beautiful  picture — rivalling 
those  of  antiquity  so  near  to  the  sympathies  of  the 
poet — and  reproving  the  scepticism  which  a  sordid 
age  has  engendered  in  regard  to  human  friendship. 
Mutual  respect,  confidence,  admiration,  and  love, 
brightened  the  intercourse  of  these  noble  men,  until 
it  was  interrupted  by  death,  to  be  enshrined  for 
ever,  without  a  doubt  or  blemish,  on  the  page  of  a 
standard  poem. 

Now  the  Fates 
Have  other  tasks  imposed.    To  thee,  my  friend ! 
The  ministry  of  Freedom,  and  the  faith 
Of  popular  decrees  in  early  youth, 
Not  vainly  they  committed.     Me  they  sent 
To  wait  on  pain,  and  silent  arts  to  urge 
Inglorious,  not  ignoble  if  my  cares, 
To  such  as  languish  on  a  grievous  bed. 
Ease,  and  the  sweet  forgetfulness  of  ill 
Conciliate ;  nor  delightless,  if  the  Muse 
Her  shades  to  visit,  and  to  taste  her  springs, — 
If  some  distinguished  hours  the  bounteous  Muse 
Impart,  and  grant  (what  she  and  she  alone 
Can  grant  to  mortals)  that  my  hand  those  wreaths 
Of  fame,  and  honest  favour,  which  the  blessed 


MARK  AKENSIDE.  247 

Wear  in  Elysium,  and  which  never  felt 
The  breath  of  envy  or  malignant  tongues, 
That  these  my  hand /or  thee  and  for  myself 
May  gather. 

P.  J.,i.  68. 

O,  my  faithful  friend  ! 
O  early  chosen,  ever  found  the  same. 
And  trusted  and  beloved !  once  more,  the  verse 
Long  destined,  always  obvious  to  thine  ear, 
Attend  indulgent:  so,  in  latest  years, 
When  time  thy  head  with  honours  shall  have  clothed, 
Sacred  to  even  virtue,  may  thy  mind. 
Amid  the  calm  review  of  seasons  past, 
Fair  offices  of  friendship,  or  kind  peace, 
Or  public  zeal : — may  then  thy  mind,  well  pleased. 
Recall  these  happy  studies  of  our  prime. 

Well  may  a  man  who  could  thus  appreciate,  from 
experience,  the  beauty  of  the  sentiment,  inquire — 

Is  aught  so  fair 
In  all  the  dewy  landscapes  of  the  spring. 
The  summer's  noontide  groves,  the  purple  eve, 
At  harvest  horpe,  or  in  the  frosty  moon 
Glittering  on  some  smooth  sea,  is  aught  so  fair 
As  virtuous  friendship  ? 

He  had  th^  good  sense  to  devote  himself  to  an 
honourable  and  useful  profession,  knowing  that  sys- 
tematic employment  was  essential  to  content  and 
respectability;  but  no  poet  ever  entertained  more 
sincere  reverence  for  the  art,  or  better  appreciated 
its  ennobling  influence  on  individual  character  and 
the  progress  of  society,  as  a  few  allusions  will 
prove : 


248  THE  SCHOLAR. 

Nor  shall  ever 
The  graver  tasks  of  manhood,  or  the  advice 
Of  vulgar  wisdom,  move  me  to  disclaim 
Those  studies  which  possessed  me  in  the  dawn 
Of  life,  and  fixed  the  colour  of  my  mind 
For  every  future  year :  whence  even  now 
From  sleep  I  rescue  the  clear  hours  of  morn, 
And,  while  the  world  around  lies  overwhelm'd 
In  idle  darkness,  am  alive  to  thoughts 
Of  honourable  fame,  of  truth  divine 
Or  moral,  and  of  minds  to  virtue  won 
By  the  sweet  magic  of  harmonious  verse. 


The  bard,  nor  length,  nor  depth, 
Nor  place,  nor  form  controls.     Him  the  hours, 
The  seasons  him  obey  :  and  changeful  time 
Sees  him  at  will  keep  measure  with  his  flight, 
At  will  outstrip  it.     His  prevailing  hand 
Gives  to  corporeal  essence  life's  sense 
And  every  stately  function  of  the  soul. 
The  soul  itself  to  him  obsequious  lies, 
Like  matter's  passive  heap;  and  as  he  wills, 
To  reason  and  affection  he  assigns 
Their  just  alliances ;  their  just  degrees : 
Hence  his  peculiar  honours ;  hence  the  race 
Of  men  who  people  his  delightful  world. 
Men  genuine  and  according  to  themselves. 
Transcend  as  far  the  uncertain  sons  of  earth. 
As  earth  itself  to  his  delightful  world 
The  palm  of  spotless  beauty  doth  resign. 


Who  trained  by  laws  the  future  age. 
Who  rescued  nations  from  the  rage 

Of  partial,  factious  power. 
My  heart  with  distant  homage  views ; 
Content  if  thou,  celestial  muse, 

Didst  rule  my  natal  hour ! 


MARK  AKENSIDE.  249 

The  fluctuations  of  taste  in  poetry,  have  brought 
into  vogue  highly-finished  and  concentrated  lyric 
effusions.  Didactic  verse,  especially  that  involving 
a  long,  continuous  argument,  attracts  but  few. 
Pope,  Cowper,  and  Wordsworth  have  each,  in  diffe- 
rent ways,  succeeded  in  obtaining  a  permanent  niche 
in  the  temple  of  Fame  by  such  efforts;  and  the 
claims  of  Akenside  are  equally  original,  though  not, 
perhaps,  so  widely  acknowledged.  One  reason  for 
this  is  the  abstract  nature  of  his  theme,  which  is 
essentially  mental  and  moral  philosophy.  Such  dis- 
cussions naturally  give  a  certain  dryness  and  involu- 
tion to  the  metre.  It  requires  implicit  attention  and 
some  familiarity  with  or  interest  in  both  ethics  and 
metaphysics,  to  be  fully  appreciated  by  the  reader. 
The  length  of  his  chief  poem  almost  entailed  occa- 
sional dulness.  Yet  there  are  scattered  through  it 
numerous  examples  of  graceful  and  effective  lan- 
guage.    He  calls  science, 

The  substitute 
Of  God's  own  wisdom  in  this  toilsome  world, 
The  providence  of  man. 

And  describes  the  envious,  as 

The  owl-eyed  race 
Whom  virtue's  lustre  blinds. 

He  calls  the  flush  of  the  banquet 

Roses  taught  by  wine  to  bloom. 


250  THE  SCHOLAR. 

And  quaintly  declares  that  whenever  the  lethargic 
mind  of  Holland  awakens, 

She  breathes  maternal  fogs  to  damp  its  restless  flame. 

Artificial,  as  he  must  be  acknowledged,  in  the  ode, 
the  blank  verse  of  Akenside  has  rare  and  character- 
istic merits  unsurpassed  in  English  poetry.  There 
is  sometimes  a  felicity  of  diction^  a  vigour  and  rich- 
ness of  phrase,  which  reminds  us  of  the  choicest 
passages  in  the  old  dramatists.  The  thought  is  ex- 
pressed with  eloquent  intensity, — a  terse,  yet  flow- 
ing collocation  of  words — that  strikes  at  once  imagi- 
nation and  reason,  and  leaves  an  harmonious  impres- 
sion on  the  memory.  The  following  extracts  are 
random  examples : 

Hence  Ambition  climbs 
With  sliding  feet  and  hands  impure  to  grasp 
Those  solemn  toys  which  glitter  in  his  view 
On  fortune'' s  rugged  steep  ;  hence  pale  Revenge 
Unsheaths  his  murderous  dagger  :  Rapine  hence 
And  envious  Lust,  by  venal  fraud  upborne, 
Surmount  the  reverend  barrier  of  the  laws, 
Which  kept  them  from  their  prey. 


But  worse  than  these 
I  deem,  far  worse,  than  other  race  of  ills 
Which  humankind  rear  up  among  themselves, — 
That  horrid  offspring  which  misgoverned  will 
Bears  to  fantastic  error. 


Therefore  was  his  breast 
Fenced  round  with  passions  quick  to  be  alarmed, 
Or  stubborn  to  oppose ;  with  fear  more  swift 
Than  beacons  catching  Jlame  from  hill  to  hilly 


MARK  AKENSIDE.  251 

When  armies  land  ;  with  anger  uncontrolled 
As  the  young  lion  bounding  on  his  prey, 
With  sorrow  that  locks  up  the  struggling  heart ; 
And  shame,  that  overcasts  the  drooping  eye 
As  with  a  cloud  of  lightning. 


When  the  Muses  haunt 

The  marble  porch  where  Wisdom  wont  to  talk 
With  Socrates  or  Tully,  hears  no  more 
Save  the  hoarse  jargon  of  contentious  monJcs, 
Or  female  superstition's  midnight  prayer  ; 
When  ruthless  Havoc  from  the  hand  of  Time 
Tears  the  destroying  scythe^  with  surer  stroke 
To  mow  the  monuments  of  glory  down  ; 
Till  Desolation  o'er  the  grass-grown  street 
Expands  her  raven  wings,  and  from  the  gate 
Where  senates  once  the  weal  of  nations  planned^ 
Hisseth  the  gliding  snake  through  hoary  weeds 
That  clasp  the  mouldering  column. 


From  whose  lips 

Flowed  eloquence,  which,  like  the  vows  of  love^ 
Could  steal  away  suspicion  from  the  hearts 
Of  all  who  listened. 


Still  the  warbling  flute 
Presided  o'er  the  combat,  breathing  strains 
Grave,  solemn,  soft ;  and  changing  headlong  spite 
To  thoughtful  resolution  cool  and  clear. 


How  I  fared 

Or  whither  turned,  I  know  not ;  nor  recall 

Aught  of  those  moments  other  than  the  sense 

Of  one  who  struggles  in  oppressive  sleep, 

And  from  the  toils  of  some  distressful  dream 

To  break  away  with  palpitating  heart, 

Weak  limbs,  and  temples  bathed  in  deathlike  dew, 

Makes  many  a  painful  effort. 


252  THE  SCHOLAR. 

Akenside's  mind  was  of  a  comprehensive  order. 
He  preferred  generalities  to  details.  It  is  admitted 
that,  notwithstanding  the  hauteur  of  his  manner  at 
the  bedside  of  hospital  patients,  he  prescribed  with 
consummate  ability:  and  the  marked  aversion  he 
expressed  for  virtuosos,  indicates  how  completely 
broad  and  elevated  tastes  were  identified  in  his  view 
with  a  manly  intellect.     He  aimed  to  survey 


All  the  many  tracts 
Of  passion  and  opinion, 


rather  than  to  describe  Nature  minutely,  or  give  ut- 
terance to  playful  fancies.  Indeed,  his  sense  of 
humour  was  deficient,  and  it  was  quite  accordant 
with  his  cast  of  mind  to  deem  a  jest  unbecoming  a 
gentleman. 

Yet  he  attached  an  important  office  to  ridicule, 
and  there  was  a  vein  of  satire  in  his  nature,  which 
occasionally  appears  in  his  writings.  In  his  opinion, 
this  weapon  enacts  no  small  part  in  vanquishing 
error ;  and  the  history  of  literature  justifies  the  idea. 

Ask  we  for  what  fair  end  the  Almighty  sire 
In  mortal  bosoms  stirs  this  gay  contempt, 
These  grateful  pangs  of  laughter ;  from  disgust 
Educing  pleasure  ?     Wherefore  but  to  aid 
The  tardy  steps  of  reason,  and  at  once 
By  this  prompt  impulse  urge  us  to  depress 
Wild  folly's  aims  ?     For  though  the  sober  light 
Of  truth  flow  dawning  on  the  watchful  mind. 
At  length  unfolds,  through  many  a  subtle  tie, 
How  these  uncouth  disorders  end  at  last 


MARK  AKENSIDE.  253 

In  public  evil ;  yet  benignant  heaven, 
Conscious  how  dim  the  dawn  of  truth  appears 
To  thousands,  conscious  what  a  scanty  pause 
From  labour  and  from  care  the  wider  lot 
or  humble  life  affords  for  studious  thought 
To  scan  the  maze  of  nature,  therefore  stamped 
These  glaring  scenes  with  characters  of  scorn. 
As  broad  and  obvious  to  the  passing  clown 
As  to  the  lettered  sage's  curious  eye. 

His  genius,  however,  was  more  allied  to  the  sub- 
lime than  the  vivacious.  He  had  a  deep  love  for  na- 
ture ;  but  it  was  for  her  laws,  her  general  effects  and 
grand  combinations  rather  than  her  special  beauties. 
Hence  his  descriptions,  although  often  winsome,  are 
vague,  and  partake  more  of  thoughtful  reverie  than 
minute  observation.  He  delighted  to  trace  mental 
phenomena  more  than  to  paint  elaborate  landscapes. 
The  metaphysician  and  naturalist  are  coevident  with 
the  scholar  and  aspirant  in  his  verse. 

It  has,  however,  been  objected  to  his  poem  that  it 
does  not  clearly  recognise  Christianity,  and  has  no 
definite  allusion  to  immortality.  The  author,  it  is 
said,  was  a  deist.  We  can  readily  believe  that  the 
form  in  which  religion  was  presented  to  the  poet  in 
childhood,  was  anything  but  engaging  either  to  his 
reason  or  affections ;  and  the  independence  of  his 
mind  and  uprightness  of  his  character  would  natu- 
rally lead  him  to  reject  bigoted  allegiance  to  any 
narrow  theological  creed.  Yet  there  are  few  poets 
who  have  been  more  thoroughly  imbued  with  the 
religious  sentiment.     If  there  is  no  direct  appeal  to 

22 


864  THE  SCHOLAR. 

doctrines  J  in  the  "Pleasures  of  Imagination/'  there 
iSj  what  seems  to  us  far  more  appropriate,  a  pervading 
spirit  of  veneration  and  earnest  love  of  truth.  In- 
deed, the  very  scope  of  the  poem  is  "  to  vindicate  the 
ways  of  God  to  man,"  by  unfolding  the  benign  and 
wise  principles  which  regulate  the  universe  and  de- 
velope  the  human  soul.  We  are  called  upon  to  bow 
in  meek  intelligence  to  "the  discipline  of  laws 
divine;"  and  the  Deity  is  apostrophized  as  the 

Exhaustless  fount  of  intellectual  day, 
Centre  of  souls.  ^ 

Immortality  is  everywhere  suggested  by  the  lofty 
attributes  and  progressive  virtue  —  so  eloquently 
described  as  the  legitimate  growth  of  our  nature ; 
and  the  abrupt  termination  of  the  poem,  induces  the 
belief  that  Akenside  reserved  the  most  spiritual  argu- 
ments for  the  last. 

For  to  the  brutes 
Perception  and  the  transient  boons  of  sense 
Hath  fate  imparted :  but  to  man  alone 
Of  sublunary  beings,  was  it  given 
Each  fleeting  impulse  on  the  sensual  powers 
At  leisure  to  review  ;  with  equal  eye 
To  scan  the  passion  of  the  stricken  nerve 
On  the  vague  object  striking ;  to  conduct 
From  sense,  the  portal  turbulent  and  loud^ 
Into  the  mind*s  wide  palace^  one  by  one 
The  frequent,  pressing,  fluctuating  forms, 
And  question  and  compare  them. 

*  «  »  « 

A  nobler  dower 

Her  sire  at  death  decreed  her ;  purer  gifts 


MARK  AKENSIDE.  255 

From  his  own  treasure ;  forms  which  never  deigned 
In  eyes  or  ears  to  dwell,  within  the  sense 
Of  earthly  organs;  but  sublime  were  placed 
In  his  essential  reason,  leading  there 
That  vast  ideal  host  which  all  his  works 
Through  endless  ages  never  will  reveal. 


€^t  ^Jiograpljer. 


FINAL  MEMORIALS  OF  LAMB  AND  KEATS.'*'^ 

There  are  aspects  of  literature  which  almost 
justify  a  noble  mind  in  recoiling  from  its  attractions. 
As  the  genuine  record  of  individual  experience,  from 
the  objective  scenes  of  adventure  to  the  most  refined 
inward  emotions, — as  a  legitimate  contribution  of 
ideas,  on  subjects  of  universal  interest  and  immediate 
utility,  and  even  as  one  of  the  fine  arts, — giving  scope 
to  taste  and  invention  in  the  combinations  of  imagery 
and  the  moulding  of  language, — there  is  an  essential 
dignity  in  literature.  But  when  we  glance  at  its 
daily  emanations,  and  perceive  the  crude,  extravagant, 
and  venal  productions  which  bear  its  name,  we  can- 
not but  impatiently  turn  to  a  green  field,  a  leafless 
tree,  or  a  distant  cloud, — to  any  object  or  thought 
which,  by  its  reality  and  truth  to  its  own  relations, 
freshens  our  spirits  by  manifesting  the  contrast  be- 
tween to  be  and  to  seem.    The  most  important  phase 

*  1.  Literary  Sketches  and  Letters:  being  the  Final  Memorials 
of  Charles  Lamb,  never  before  published.  By  Thomas  Noon  Tal- 
fourd,  one  of  his  executors.     New  York.     D.  Appleton  &  Co.    1848. 

2.  Life,  Letters,  and  Literary  Remains  of  John  Keats.  Edited  by 
Richard  iMonckton  Milnes.     New  York.    George  P.  Putnam.   1848. 


FINAL  MEMORIALS  OF  LAMB  AND  KEATS.  257 

of  literature  is  psychological.     The  letter,  po^m,  or 
biography  which  opens  to  us  the  soul's  arcana,  with- 
out disguise  or  illusion,  is  one  of  those  repositories 
through  which  we  make  sure  advances  toward  primal 
truth.     The  secret  and  enduring  charm  of  poetry  is 
founded  upon  the  idea  that  it  is  a  deeper  and  more 
significant  utterance  than  any  other  form  of  litera- 
ture ;  that  it  is,  by  a  kind  of  necessity,  sincere — and 
breathes   the  most  unalloyed  spirit  of  beauty  and 
truth.     It  is  like  a  torch  passed  from  hand  to  hand 
with  fraternal  care,  because  its  flame  was  kindled  at 
a  divine  altar ;  and  should  be  preserved  to  enlighten 
and  warm  the  universal  heart.     In  proportion  as  the 
records  of  the  mind  are  drawn  from  its  inner  recesses, 
and  the  revelations  of  the  pen  are  individual,  spon- 
taneous,   and   genuine,    they  excite    sympathy  and 
deserve  regard.     The  highest  forms  of  literature,  as 
an  art,  are  shaped  upon  this  principle — the  drama 
being  the  intimate,  and  history  the  picturesque  re- 
flection of  life.     Hence  Shakspeare  has  furnished  a 
vocabulary  for  the  passions  and  woes  of  men ;  in  the 
pulpit,  at  the  bar,  and  the  fireside,  in  conviviality  and 
bereavement — the  utterances  of  his    characters  in- 
stinctively fly  to  the  lips.     One  reason  for  the  de- 
cline of  the  drama  is  that,  in  modern  times,  genius 
has  so  often  written  its  own  tragedy  and  comedy,  in 
its  actual  development.     We  have  been  admitted  so 
frankly  into  the  life  of  beings,  endowed  with  the 
keenest  sensibilities  and  the  richest  intellects,  that  a 
drama,  however  imposing  or  brilliant,  especially  when 

22* 


258  THE  BIOGRAPHER. 

acted,  seems  comparatively  inadequate  and  cold  as  a 
representation  of  human  existence.  What  tragedy, 
for  instance;  ever  Avritten,  can  equal  the  pathos  in- 
volved in  these  last  memorials  of  Lamb  and  Keats  ? 
What  chapter  of  mental  philosophy  more  strikingly 
unfolds  the  mysterious  laws  of  the  moral  nature  than 
the  glimpses  here  unfolded  of  inward  struggles,  in- 
tense consciousness,  and  life-long  conflict  with  evils 
too  sacred  to  be  discussed  until  the  sufferers  had 
passed  away  ?  How  tame  and  insignificant  appear 
the  outward  obstacles,  over  which  coarser  natures 
triumph,  compared  to  the  secret  misery  which  these 
gentle  yet  heroic  men  so  long  endured  !  The  essence 
of  Lear  and  Hamlet  is  here  incarnated;  and  we 
realize  perfectly  how  in  beings  so  delicate  and  as- 
piring, in  the  grasp  of  a  destiny  so  strange  and 
mournful,  suicidal  reveries  may  alternate  with  comic 
talk. 

It  is  also  remarkable  that  "  final  memorials"  should 
have  appeared  almost  simultaneously,  of  two  indi- 
viduals peculiarly  endeared  to  the  lovers  of  originality 
of  mind  and  grace  of  character :  and  the  coincidence 
extends  to  many  particulars.  Each  has  been  mis- 
interpreted— the  one  as  deficient  in  veneration,  the 
other  in  courage ;  and  in  both  instances  the  idea  is 
triumphantly  refuted — Lamb  having  guided  himself 
by  a  severe  line  of  duty  based  on  reverence,  and 
Keats  given  an  uncommon  example  of  fortitude.  In 
each,  too,  pain  was  magnified  and  cheated  of  illusion 
by  acute  consciousness,  in  the  one  case  of  the  latent 


FINAL  MEMORIALS  OF  LAMB  AND  KEATS.  259 

signs  of  metital  aberratioiij  and  in  the  other,  we  are 
told,  "  his  knowledge  of  anatomy  made  every  change 
tenfold  worse/'  The  man  who  indited  sportive  com- 
ments on  death,  felt  that  he  "must  be  religious;" 
and  he  who  indulged  in  moods  of  sentimental  lan- 
guishment,  with  his  dying  gasp,  reassured  the  sinking 
courage  of  his  friend  ! 

The  philosophy  of  human  suffering  is,  as  yet,  un- 
written. Theological  literature  and  poetry  afford  but 
glimpses  whereby  we  may  vaguely  estimate  its  scope 
and  subtlety;  but  the  materials  from  which  it  is 
educed  are  chiefly  to  be  discovered  in  volumes  like 
these.  The  writings  which  these  men  chose  to  give 
to  the  world,  form  part  of  their  artistic,  deliberate, 
and  expressed  development ;  and  as  such  have  been 
analyzed  and  estimated  by  refined  critics  and  loving 
readers.  The  facts  of  their  career,  and  the  unstudied, 
confidential  letters  of  friendship,  yield  the  necessary 
collateral  light  which  brings  into  relief  the  native 
impulses  of  character,  and  furnishes  the  interpretation 
that  the  emanations  of  genius  but  partially,  though 
exquisitely,  revealed.  Both  have  been  fortunate  in 
their  biographers.  Talfourd  and  Milnes,  fitted  by 
their  kindred  gifts  to  realize  the  intrinsic  worth  of 
their  subjects,  have  -brought  together  these  scattered 
mementos  and  given  them  an  intelligible  shape,  with 
the  reverence,  affection,  and  delicacy  required  for 
such  a  task.  They  come  forth  at  an  auspicious  mo- 
ment, when  death  has  canonized  the  names,  and  time 
sealed  the  reputation  of  the  essayist  and  poet ;  when 


260  THE  BIOGRAPHER. 

a  growing  taste  for  the  higher  qualities  of  mind  has 
somewhat  modified  superficial  and  indiscriminate  views 
of  literature ;  and  when  the  spirit  of  the  age  readily 
prepares  the  way  for  the  reception  of  whatever  vindi- 
cates and  hallows  the  memory  of  those  whom  renown 
has  made  familiar.  The  facts  of  consciousness  are, 
to  the  student  of  man  and  life,  what  the  phenomena 
of  nature  are  to  the  scientific  observer.  Lamb  and 
Keats,  both  from  idiosyncrasy  and  circumstances, 
realized  and  dwelt  upon  their  inward  experiences. 
Their  outward  lot  bafiled  action  only  to  intensify 
thought  and  emotion.  "I  love  my  sonnets,"  says 
the  former,  "  because  they  are  the  reflected  images 
of  my  feelings  at  different  times."  For  the  same 
reason  his  letters  are  interesting  to  us.  We  knew  of 
his  irksome  clerkship,  his  economical  lodgings,  his 
delightful  literary  circle,  his  fraternal  love, — and 
that  it  was  his  wont  to  "gather  himself  up  into  the 
old  things."  But  we  knew  not  of  his  unostentatious 
charities,  nor  of  the  darkest  thread  in  the  web  of  his 
destiny — -the  allusions  to  which,  in  this  correspond- 
ence, shed  a  new  and  almost  supernatural  light  upon 
the  peculiarities  of  his  genius. 

These  revelations  are,  indeed,  eminently  Shak- 
spearean,  especially  in  unfolding  that  mystical  rela- 
tion between  humour  and  pathos,  wherein  the  great 
dramatist  approaches  nearer  than  any  other  writer 
to  the  very  heart  of  nature.  Lamb's  essays  are 
remarkable  for  genial  humour.  H^  seems  peculiarly 
to  enjoy  the  quaint,  ridiculous,  and,  if  we  may  so  call 


FINAL  MEMORIALS  OF  LAMB  AND  KEATS.  261 

it,  relishing  side  of  life.     And  yet  his  personal,  do- 
mestic, familiar  existence  contained  an  element  of 
profound  wo.     He  relinquished  in  early  youth  his 
dream  of  love  for  ever,  to  watch  over  a  sister  afflicted 
with  periodical  fits  of  insanity,  in  one  of  which  she 
had  killed  their  mother.    A  situation  more  harrowing 
to  a  mind  of  rare  susceptibility,  is  scarcely  to  be 
imagined ;  and  it  was  from  the  appalling  scenes  of 
this  tragic  destiny  that,  by  the  instinct  of  self-pre- 
servation, the  voluntary  martyr  fled,  on  the  wings  of 
fancy,  into  a  realm  of  curious  observation  and  playful 
wit.     "  I  hope,"  he  writes,  "  (for  Mary  I  can  answer) 
that  I  shall,  through  life,  never  have  less  recollection, 
nor  a  fainter  impression  of  what  has  happened  than 
I  have  now.     It  is  not  a  light  thing,  nor  meant  by 
the  Almighty  to  be  received  lightly.      I  must  be 
serious,  circumspect,  and  religious  through  life,  and 
by  such  means  may  both  of  us  escape  madness  in 
future,  if  it  so  please  the  Almighty  !"    A  few  signifi- 
cant passages  give  us  a  vivid  idea  of  the  extent  and 
influence  of  his  calamity.     '^  Being  by  ourselves  is 
bad,  and  going  out  is  bad.     I  get  so  irritable  and 
wretched  with  fear,  that  I  constantly  hasten  on  the 
disorder.     You  cannot  conceive  the  misery  of  such  a 
foresight."     We  know  of  no  incident  in  the  whole 
range  of  literary  biography  so  startling  and  painful, 
as  that  here  recorded  of  Lamb,  associated  as  it  is 
with  the  geniality  and  wit  of  Elia, — that,  on  one  oc- 
casion, Lloyd  met  him  and  his  sister — ''  slowly  pacing 
together  a  little  footpath  in  Hoxton  fields,  both  weep- 


262  THE  BIOGRAPHER. 

ing  bitterly,  and  found,  on  joining  them,  tliat  they 
were  taking  their  solemn  way  to  the  accustomed 
asylum  !'V 

It  is  seldom  that  Ave  thus  clearly  see  the  reciprocal 
interchange  of  humour  and  pathos — the  one  reacting 
on  the  other  and  thus  maintaining  the  equilibrium  of 
reason.  Lamb's  idolatry  of  Shakspeare  and  his 
metaphysical  insight  as  regards  the  true  principle  of 
his  creations,  is  thus  explained.  Few  men  ever 
realized,  in  their  consciousness,  such  a  testimony 
to  the  essential  genuineness  of  the  bard's  conceptions. 
Others  may  interpret  the  moods  of  Hamlet,  the  mur- 
derous reveries  of  Macbeth,  or  the  agony  of  Lear, 
through  observation  of  human  nature  in  general,  or 
according  to  a  code  of  philosophical  criticism  ;  but 
Lamb  did  so  by  his  individual  sympathies.  Love, 
duty,  and  madness  had  pressed  upon  his  earliest  youth 
and  wrestled  in  his  manly  and  sensitive  heart,  robing 
life  in  a  "sceptred  pall,"  driving  him  to  minor  com- 
forts, isolating  his  being,  and,  with  a  kind  of  dramatic 
facility,  causing  the  day's  oppressive  responsibility 
to  vibrate  to  the  evening's  airy  mirth,  as  a  huge 
and  frowning  mountain  echoes  the  cheering  notes  of 
a  horn. 

The  same  characteristic  is  made  known  by  the 
new  memoir  of  Keats.  His  domestic  bereavements, 
critical  persecution,  hopeless  love,  and  physical  suf- 
fering, combined  with  a  temperament  that  quivered 
to  every  impression — afford  a  gloomy  background  to 
the  picture  of  his  life;  and  yet  this  is  constantly 


FINAL  MEMORIALS  OF  LAMB  AND  KEATS.  2G3 

irradiated  by  his  exquisite  sense  of  beauty  and 
flashes  of  humour.  Nearly  all  that  his  letters  sug- 
gest of  the  actual  circumstances  which  environ  him, 
is  painful ;  while  the  very  record  is  often  so  lively 
wdth  hints  of  vast  imaginative  pleasure  and  sparkles 
of  gay  conceit,  that  the  same  relief  is  given  to  the 
sympathies  which  arises  from  the  self-possessed 
energy  of  a  well-delineated  character  in  tragedy : 
pity  is  elevated  into  admiration ;  the  struggle  with 
fate  appears  grand ;  the  resources  of  the  victim  lend 
a  dignity  to  his  misfortunes ;  and  we  have  a  latent 
feeling  that  it  is  "  nobler  in  the  mind  to  suffer"  thus, 
than  to  stagnate  in  an  ignoble  prosperity. 

The  familiar  epistles,  like  the  conversation  of  the 
author,^ — ''  a  delightful  combination  of  earnestness 
and  pleasantry," — are  quite  satisfactory  in  exhibit- 
ing the  thorough  manliness  of  the  poet's  character. 
He  possessed,  indeed,  all  the  traits  which  we  asso- 
ciate with  his  vocation.  His  sentiments  were  candid, 
generous,  free,  and  humane.  All  that  the  critics 
have  said  in  regard  to  the  carelessness  and  promise 
of  his  verse  is  included  in  his  own  just  self-estima- 
tion, indicating  at  once  a  deep  sense  both  of  power 
and  imperfection.  "  The  faint  conceptions,"  he  says, 
"  of  poems  to  come,  bring  the  blood  frequently  into 
my  forehead;"  and  again,  "I  have  written  indepen- 
dently without  judgment.  I  will  write  independently 
and  with  judgment  hereafter."  Yet  he  had  his  own 
theory  of  the  art — founded  upon  the  nature  of  his 
own  gifts,  from  which  no   indiscriminate   reproach 


264  THE  BIOGRAPHER. 

could  drive  him.     ^^ Poetry,"  he  declares,    "should 
surprise  by  2ifine  excess  and  not  by  singularity." 

He  evidently  possessed  the  magnanimity  of  genius. 
"Is  there  no  human  dust-hole,"  he  asked,  in  refe- 
rence to  some  mean  conduct, — "into  which  we  can 
sweep  such  fellows?"  And  although  he  felt  that 
"  a  man  must  have  the  fine  point  of  his  soul  taken 
off  to  be  fit  for  this  world,"  it  was  not  in  the  spirit  of 
misanthropy  that  he  looked  upon  his  race.  "  I  find 
there  is  no  worthy  pursuit,"  he  writes,  "but  the 
idea  of  doing  some  good  in  the  world."  He  alludes 
earnestly  to  the  "  ultimate  glory  of  dying  for  a  great 
human  enterprise"  as  a  prevailing  desire,  and  elo- 
quently observes,  "  Scenery  is  fine,  but  human 
nature  is  finer ;  the  sward  is  richer  for  the  tread  of  a 
real,  nervous  English  foot ;  the  eagle's  nest  is  finer 
for  the  mountaineer  having  looked  into  it."  In  one 
letter  he  refers  to  his  "delight  in  sensation"  as  an 
inferior  state  to  his  friend's  "hunger  after  truth." 
But  these  elements — both  essential  to  the  poetic 
nature,  were  more  happily  blended  in  him  than  he 
seems  to  have  considered.  Time  had  not  yet 
chastened  the  one,  or  made  him  vividly  conscious  of 
the  other.  With  all  his  urbanity  and  ingenuousness, 
he  confesses  to  that  instinct  of  seclusion  whereby, 
like  the  snail's  shell,  a  protection  is  afi*orded  such 
beings,  in  social  intercourse,  from  what  might  other- 
wise wound  or  harden.  "  Think  of  my  pleasure  in 
solitude  in  comparison  with  my  commerce  with  the 
world :  there  I  am  a  child,  there  they  do  not  know  me, 


FINAL  MEMORIALS  OF  LAMB  AND  KEATS.  265 

not  even  my  most  intimate  acquaintance ;  I  give  into 
their  feelings  as  though  I  were  refraining  from  imi- 
tating a  little  child.  Some  think  me  middling,  others 
silly,  others  foolish ;  every  one  thinks  he  sees  my 
weak  side  against  my  will,  when  in  truth,  it  is  with 
my  will,  I  am  content  to  be  thought  all  this, 
because  I  have  in  my  own  breast  so  great  a  resource." 
He  seems  inclined  in  one  letter  to  deny  the  indivi- 
duality of  genius,  and,  if  we  separate  the  quality  or 
attributes  so  designated,  from  character,  the  position 
is  tenable.  It  is,  however,  not  unusual  to  confound 
the  two.  Keats  recognised,  probably  from  circum- 
stances, the  truth  that  intellectually  as  well  as 
spiritually,  the  attitude  of  human  being  towards  life 
and  nature  should  be  receptive.  These  psychological 
facts — the  universal  assimilating  nature  of  genius 
and  the  recipient  capacity  of  mind,  are  hinted 
with  striking  beauty,  in  the  following  passage  :  ^'Men 
of  genius  are  great  as  certain  ethereal  chemicals^ 
operating  on  the  mass  of  neutral  intellect — but  they 
have  not  any  individuality,  any  determined  charac- 
ter. Now  it  is  more  noble  to  sit  like  Jove  than  fly 
like  Mercury  : — let  us  not  therefore  go  hurrying 
about  and  collecting  honey,  bee-like,  buzzing  here 
and  there  for  a  knowledge  of  what  is  to  be  arrived 
at ;  but  let  us  open  our  leaves  like  a  flower,  and  be 
passive  and  receptive,  budding  patiently  under  the 
eye  of  Apollo,  and  taking  hints  from  every  noble 
insect  that  favours  us  with  a  visit.  Sap  will  be 
given  us  for  meat  and  dew  for  drink." 

28 


266  THE  BIOGRAPHER. 

"These  pages,"   says  Mr.  Milnes, 
whose  whole  story  may  be  summed  up  in  the  compo- 
sition of  three  small  volumes  of  verse,  some  earnest 
friendships,  one  passion,  and  a  premature   death." 
But  to  the  reader  of  thought  and  feeling,  how  much 
is  involved  in  the  brief  chronicle !      The   verse   is 
chiefly  dedicated  to  mythological  fables  ;  and  yet  the 
poet  was  ignorant  of  Greek,  but  adopting  the  heathen 
divinities,    because   around    them    he   could    freely 
throw  the  drapery  of  his  imagination,  he  gives  each 
a  life  more  fresh  and  lovely  than  that  afforded  by  the 
literature  which  embodies  them ;  beings  of  a  "  creed 
outworn,"  he  breathed  into  them  the  vitality  of  his 
own  sensations,  and  thus  placed  the  cold  and  brilliant 
gems  of  a  Pagan  theocracy,  on  the  warm  bosom  of 
Christianized   humanity.       The  distinction  between 
genius  and  scholarship  was  never  more  eloquently 
revealed.     The  finish  of  the  complete  bard,  is  only 
occasionally  manifest, — in  the  Eve  of  St.  Agnes,  for 
instance,  and   some  of  the  sonnets;    but   the  rich 
fancy,  novel  metaphor,  and  kindling  aspiration  gleam 
and   glow    on    every  page  in  wild  luxuriance.     We 
have  elsewhere*  discussed  the  claims  of  Keats  as  a 
poet,  and  the  volume  before  us  irresistibly  attracts  us 
to  him  as  a  man.      The  "earnest  friendships"   to 
which  his  biographer  alludes,  seem,  from  the  letters 
to  have  been  the  great  consolation  of  his  life ;   and 
their  ingenuous  and  manly  exposition  is  a  new  evi- 

*  Thoughts  on  the  Poets.  '"' 


FINAL  MEMORIALS  OF  LAMB  AND  KEATS.  267 

dence  of  that  power,  wHich  seems  the  compensatory 
award  of  heaven  for  the  inevitable  sufferings  of 
genius,  to  attach  "others  to  its  possessors  with  singu- 
lar tenacity  and  exclusiveness.  The  "one  passion'' 
of  Keats  confirms  our  belief  in  the  individuality  of 
affection  of  the  poetical  character.  Its  kindliness, 
admiration,  and  sympathies  are,  indeed,  universal; 
and  their  exhibition  is  often  mistaken  for  that  of 
another  sentiment.  But  the  very  characteristic  of  a 
poetic  mind  is  concentration.  It  is  the  exercise  of 
this  faculty  in  which  consists  its  power ;  and  fearful 
is  its  intensity,  when  instead  of  being  directed 
towards  abstract  theories  or  philanthropic  aims,  it 
,  becomes  identified  with  a  human  object.  Nothing 
more  clearly  indicates  the  absorbing  nature  of  this 
experience  in  Keats,  than  his  obvious  avoidance  of 
the  subject,  except  when  necessity  compelled  an 
allusion.  It  was  the  controlling  thought  of  his  mind, 
the  haunting  dream  of  his  fancy,  and  the  almost 
exclusive  sentiment  of  his  heart.  The  few  hints 
which  drop  from  his  letters  are  enough  to  suggest  a 
world  of  passionate  emotion.  That  excessive  sensi- 
bility to  associations  which  is  so  characteristic  of  this 
feeling,  makes  us  aware  how  alive  he  w^as  to  every- 
thing even  remotely  bearing  on  this  subject.  In  one 
of  his  first  letters  from  Italy,  he  says:  "I  can  bear 
to  die — ^^I  cannot  bear  to  leave  her.  Oh,  God  !  God! 
God  !  Everything  I  have  in  my  trunks  that  reminds 
me  of  her  goes  through  me  like  a  spear.  The  silk 
lining  she  put  in  my  travelling  cap  scalds  my  head. 


2Q8  THE  BIOGRAPHER. 

There  is  nothing  in  the  Avorld  of  sufficient  interest  to 
divert  me  from  her  a  moment.  0  that  I  could  be 
buried  near  where  she  lives !  It  surprises  me  that 
the  human  heart  is  capable  of  containing  and  bear- 
ing so  much  misery  as  this."  Mr.  Milnes,  with 
becoming  delicacy,  is  silent  in  regard  to  the  object  of 
this  "  one  passion,"  except  to  give  the  assurance  that . 
the  consciousness  of  having  inspired  it,  "  has  been  a 
source  of  grave  delight  and  earnest  thankfulness 
through  the  changes  and  chances  of  her  earthly  pil- 
grimage." We  allude  to  it  chiefly  to  note  what 
strikes  us  as  a  most  touching  instance  of  that  want 
of  recognition  which  seems  to  attend  human  beings 
in  life,  in  proportion  as  they  are  ardent  and  genuine, 
— that,  at  the  very  time  Keats  w^as  half-scorned  as 
the  victim  of  wounded  self-love,  his  death  w^as  accele- 
rated by  the  fervour  of  his  devotion  to  another  ;  and 
the  thought  of  fame  had  no  power  to  wdn  his  desires 
from  the  grave. 

Of  his  ''premature  death,"  we  have  a  more  elabo- 
rate and  authentic  record  than  ever  before.  His 
sufi*erings  were  prolonged  and  severe ;  but,  for  an 
exile,  he  enjoyed  the  benefit  of  extraordinary  medi- 
cal skill  and  affectionate  nurture.  The  celebrated 
Dr.  Clarke  was  his  constant  attendant, — a  generous 
artist,  the  friend  of  years,  scarcely  left  his  bedside  ; 
the  sky  of  Rome  canopies  his  grave,  and  Shelley 
wrote  for  him  an  immortal  elegy.  It  is  with  the 
sensation  of  an  intolerable  pressure  lifted  from  the 
heart,  that  we  close  the  story.     After  tracing  that 


FINAL  MEMORIALS  OF  LAMB  AND  KEATS.  2G9 

feverish  life — its  keen  appreciation  of  the  pleasurable 
in  sensation,  its  ravishing  sense  of  the  beautiful  in 
thought  and  nature,  its  noble  impulses  and  con- 
strained environment, — the  eagerness  of  the  soul  and 
the  fragility  of  the  body — we  see  no  happy  goal  for 
it  on  earth,  scarcely  a  chance  for  harmonious  tran- 
quillity ;  and  it  is  soothing  to  know  that  the  ceaseless 
pleadings  of  that  weary  heart  are  stilled  forever^ 
beneath  the  daisy-grown  turf ! 

We  agree  with  his  biographer  in  regarding  the 
want  of  correspondence  between  the  world  of  thought 
and  that  of  action,  as  a  benign  law  incident  to  human 
life  and  for  a  benign  end.  The  gifts  of  Lamb  and 
Keats  redeemed  their  outward  destiny ;  and  in  this 
great  fact  so  impressively  demonstrated  in  the  volumes 
before  us,  we  find  a  new  and  persuasive  evidence  of 
the  innate  worth  of  genius.  To  what  realms  of 
fancy  and  awe,  to  the  sweet  conviction  of  how  many 
sublime  truths,  into  amity  with  what  rich  and  loving 
spirits,  did  the  endowments  of  these  men  bring  them ! 
The  shafts  of  misfortune  were  blunted  against  the 
panoply  of  serene  thought,  or  foiled  aside  by  eleva- 
tion of  sentiment  or  blitheness  of  fancy.  There  is  a 
nobleness  in  their  lives  which  all  they  endured  from 
pain  and  calumny,  only  more  clearly  developed. 
That  they  "  dwelt  apart,"  like  stars,  was  no  infelicity ; 
for  the  radiant  glow  that  still  comes  to  us  from  those 
glorious  heights,  is  our  best  assurance  that  they  did 
not  suffer  in  vain. 

THE     END. 


LINDSAY  &   BLAKISTON 

PUBLISH  THE 

AMERICAN  FEMALE  POETS: 

WITH 

BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CRITICAL  NOTICES, 

BY 
CAROLINE    MAY. 

AN  ELEGANT  VOLUME,  WITH  A  HANDSOME  VIGNETTE  TITLE, 

AND 

PORTRAIT  OF  MRS.  OSGOOD. 

The  Literary  contents  of  this  work  contain  copious  selections  from 

the  writings  of 

Anne  Bradstreet,  Jane  Turell,  Anne  Kliza  Bleecker,  Margarctta 

V.  FaugereSf  Plilllis  Wlieatley,  Mercy  Warren,  Sarali  Porter, 

Sarali   Wentwortii    Morton,    Mrs*    lilttle,    Maria    A*    Brooks, 

Lydia  Huntley  Sigourney,  Anna  Maria  Wells,  Caroline  Oil* 

man,  Sarali  Joseplia  Hale,  Maria  James,  Jessie  G*  M'Cartee, 

Mrs«  Gray,  Kliza  Follen,  Louisa  Jane   Hall,  Mrs*  Svirift, 

Mrs*  El*  C*  Kinney,  Marguerite  St*  Leon  Loud,  Luella  J* 

Case,  Klizalietli  Bogart,  A*  D*  Woodbridge,  KlizabetU 

Margaret  Cliandler,  £:mni.a  C*  Embury,  Sarah.  Helena 

Wliitman,  Cyntliia  Taggart)  Blizabetli  J«  Eames, 

&>€•   &>C%   Sl'C* 

The  whole  forming  a  beautiful  specimen  of  the  highly  cultivated  state  ol 

the  arts  in  the  United  States,  as  regards  the  paper,  topography, 

and  binding  in  rich  and  various  styles^ 

EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  PREFACE. 
One  of  the  most  striking  characteristics  of  the  present  age 
is  the  number  of  female  writers,  especially  in  the  department 
of  belles-lettres.  This  is  even  more  true  of  the  United 
States,  than  of  the  old  world ;  and  poetry,  which  is  the  lan- 
guage of  the  affections,  has  been  freely  employed  among  us 
to  express  the  emotions  of  woman's  heart. 

As  the  rare  exotic,  costly  because  of  the  distance  from 
which  it  is  brought,  will  often  suffer  in  comparison  of  beauty 
and  fragrance  with  the  abundant  wild  flowers  of  our  mea- 
dows and  woodland  slopes,  so  the  reader  of  our  present 
volume,  if  ruled  by  an  honest  taste,  will  discover  in  the  effu- 
sions of  our  gifted  countrywomen  as  much  grace  of  form, 
and  powerful  sweetness  of  thought  and  feeling,  as  in  the 
blossoms  of  woman's  genius  culled  from  other  lands. 


LINDSAY  &   BLAKISTON 

PUBLISH  THE 

BRITISH    FEMALE    POETS: 

WITH 

BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CRITICAL  NOTICES, 

BY 

GEO.  W.   BETHUNE. 

AN   ELEGANT  VOLUME,  WITH   A  HANDSOME   VIGNETTE    TITLE, 

AND 

PORTRAIT  OF  THE  HON.  MRS.  NORTON. 

The  Literary  contents  of  this  work  contain  copious  selections  from 

the  writings  of 

Anne  Boleyn,  Countess  of  Arundel^  Queen  Elizabeth,  Duchess  of  i 

NeMTcastle,  Elizabeth  Carter^  Mrs*  Tighe,  Miss  Hannah  More«  i 

Mrs*  HemanSf  I^ady  Flora  Hastings,  Mrs*  Amelia  Opie,   Miss 

Eliza  Cook,  Mrs*  Southey,  Miss  Lowe,  Mrs.  Norton,  Blizaheth 

B*  Barrett,  Catharine  Parr,  Mary  Q^ueen  of  Scots,  Countess 

of  Pembroke,  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montague,  Mrs*  Gre- 

ville,  Mrs*  Barbauld,  Joanna  Baillie,  lictitia  Elizabeth 

Landon,  Charlotte  Elizabeth,  Mary  Russell  Mitford, 

Mrs*  Coleridge,  Mary  Hovvitt,  Frances  Kemble  Butler, 

&C*   &>C»   Si>Cm 

The  whole  forming  a  beautiful  specimen  of  the  highly  cultivated  state  of 

the  arts  in  the  United  States,  as  regards  the  paper,  typography, 

and  binding  in  rich  and  various  styles. 

OPINIONS   OF  THE    PRESS. 

In  the  department  of  English  poetry,  we  have  loni?  looked  for  a  spirit  cast  in  nature's  finest,  yet 
most  elevated  mould,  possessed  of  the  most  dehcute  and  exquisite  taste,  the  keenest  perception 
of  the  innate  true  and  beautiful  in  poetry,  as  oppfised  to  their  opposites,  who  could  e;ive  to  us  n 
pure  collection  of  the  British  Female  Poets ;  many  of  them  among  the  choicest  spirits  that  ever 
graced  and  adorned  humanity.  The  object  of  our  search,  in  this  distinct  and  important  mission, 
IS  before  us ;  and  we  acknowledge  at  once  in  Dr.  Bethune.  the  pified  poet,  the  eh>quent  divine,  ' 
and  the  humble  Christian,  one  who  combines,  in  an  eminent  degrree,  all  the  charaderistics  above 
alluded  to.  It  raises  the  mind  loftier,  and  makes  it  purified  with  the  soul,  to  float  in  an  atmosphere 
of  spiritual  purity,  to  peruse  the  elegant  volume  before  us,  chaste,  rich,  and  beautiful,  without  and 
witliin.— T/j«  Spectator. 

We  do  not  remember  to  have  seen  any  previous  attempt  to  form  a  poetical  bouquet  exclusively 
ft-om  gardens  planted  by  female  hands,  and  made  fragrant  and  beautiful  by  woman's  gentle  culture. 
We  know  few  men  equally  qualified  with  the  gifted  Editor  of  this  volume  for  the  tasteful  and 
judicious  selection  and  adjustment  of  the  various  flowers  that  are  to  delight  with  their  sweetness, 
Boothe  with  their  softness,  and  impart  profit  with  their  sentiment.  The  volume  is  enriched  with 
Biographical  Sketches  of  some  sixty  poetesses,  each  sketch  being  followed  with  specimens  charac- 
teristic of  her  style  and  powers  of  verse.  In  beauty  of  typography,  and  general  getting  up,  this 
volume  is  quite  equal  to  the  best  issues  of  its  tasteful  and  euterprising  publishers.— £pi5coi;flZ  Recorder. 

It  is  handsomely  embellished,  and  may  be  described  as  a  casket  of  gems.  Dr.  Bethune,  who  is 
himself  a  poet  of  no  mean  genius,  has  in  this  volume  exhibited  the  most  refined  taste.  The  work 
may  be  regarded  as  a  treasury  of  nearly  all  the  best  pieces  of  British  Female  Poets.— Inquirer. 

This  volume,  which  is  fer  more  suited  for  a  holyday  gift  than  many  which  are  prepared  expressly 
for  the  purpose,  contains  extracts  from  all  the  most  distinguished  English  Female  Poets,  selected 
with  the  taste  and  judgment  which  we  have  a  right  to  expect  from  the  eminent  divine  and  highly 
gifted  poet  whose  name  adorns  the  title  page.  It  is  a  rare  collection  of  the  richest  gems. — Balti- 
more American. 


Dr.  Bethune  has  selected  his  materials  with  exquisite  taste,  culling  the  fairest  and  sweetest 
flowers  from  the  extensive  field  cultivated  by  the  British  Female  Poets.  The  brief  Biographical 
Notices  add  much  interest  to  the  volume,  and  vastly  increase  its  value.  It  is  pleasant  to  find  hard- 
working and  close-thinking  divines  thus  recreating  themselves,  and  contributing  bv  their  recrea- 
tions to  the  refinement  of  the  age.  Dr.  Bethune  has  brought  to  his  task  poetic  enthusiasm,  and  a 
ready  perception  of  the  pure  aiid  beautiful.—iV.  Y.  Commercial. 


A  NEW  AND  BEAUTIFUL  AMERICAN  GIFT-BOOK. 

ALTOGETHER   ORIGINAL. 


LINDSAY    AND    BLAKISTON 

HAVE  JUST  PUBLISHED 

THE  AMERICAN   GALLERY  OF  ART, 

WITH 

ELEVEN  ILLUSTRATIONS,  ENGRAVED  ON  STEEL. 

FROM 

PAINTINGS  BY  AMERICAN  ARTISTS. 

LIST     OF     ILLUSTRATIONS. 

f  roissart  reading  his  Chronicle  to  Q,ue«n  Philippa Painted  by  Rothermel. 

Vignette  Title  Page Painted  by  Thomas  Buchanan  Rea<i 

The  Artist's  Dream Designed  by  John  Sartain. 

The  Rose-Bud Painted  by  Thomas  Sully. 

The  First  Ship Painted  by  Joshua  Shaw. 

Taking  Sanctuary Painted  by  W.  E.  Winner. 

The  Haunted  Stream Painted  by  James  Hamilton. 

Zaida Painted  by  Samuel  B.  Waugh. 

Tired  of  Play Painted  by  John  Neagle. 

Peasant  Girl  of  Frascati Painted  by  S.  S.  Osgood. 

Cascade  near  the  Falls  of  the  Kanhawa Painted  by  Russell  Smith, 

WITH 

POETICAL  AND  PROSE  CONTRIBUTIONS, 

BY  DISTINGUISHED   AMERICAN  AUTHORS, 

An  elegant  quarto  volume,  richly,  bound  in  cloth,  gilt,  with  an 
emblematical  side  stamp,  in  gold. 

It  has  long  been  the  desire  of  Mr.  Sartain,  as  he  states  in  the  preface,  to  pre- 
sent a  work  on  the  **  Painters  of  Amekica,  richljr  embellished  with  engraved 
specimens  from  the  labours  of  all  the  meritorious  artists  of  the  country'* — a  great 
and  expensive  undertaking,  only,  perhaps,  capable  of  accomplishment,  by  giving 
to  the  work  a  periodic  character,  and  issuing  the  successive  volumes,  at  the  gift- 
season,  in  the  splendid  form  of  annuals.  Thus,  ultimately,  may  be  completed, 
according  to  the  original  design,  a  gallery  of  American  Painters,  m  which  **  every 
artist  of  merit  in  the  country  will  be  represented." 

The  present  volume  opens  the  series  very  successfully,  with  eleven  plates  in 
mezzotint,  all  of  them  engraved  by  Mr.  Sartain  in  his  best  style,  from  designs 
by  Sully,  Rothermel,  Read,  Waugh,  Shaw,  Neagle,  Winner.  Smith,  Hamilton, 
Osgood,  and  Sartain  himself, — some  of  them  highly  beautiful  and  imaginative 
pieces.  The  poetical  and  prose  illustrations  are  by  well-known  and  popular 
American  writers.  We  cannot  doubt  the  success  of  a  publication  so  well  adapted 
for  the  purposes  of  a  gift-book  and  an  ornament  to  the  parlour  and  boudoir. — 
North  American. 

The  purpose  of  this  work  is  to  furnish  a  gallery  of  characteristic  specimens 
from  the  works  of  the  '*  Painters  of  America,"  where  every  artist  of  merit  in 
the  country  will  be  represented.  Its  literary  department  will  be  original,  whilst 
its  gems  of  art  will  be  faithful  representations  of  the  most  interesting  productions 
of  domestic  genius,  talent,  and  acquirement  in  the  use  of  the  brush.  The  work 
is  truly  American,  and,  as  such,  will  command  that  to  which  it  is  justly  entitled, 
a  generous  and  extensive  support. — Episcopal  Recorder. 


LINDSAY  &,  BLAKISTON  PUBLISH, 

THE  MIBROR  OF  LIFE, 

A  TRULY   AMERICAN    BOOK,  ENTIRELY   ORIGINAL^ 

PRESENTING  A  VIEW  OF  THE  PROGRESS  OF  LIFE, 

FROIVI  INTHLNCir  TO  OZ.D  AGE: 

Illustrated  by  a  series  of  Eleven  Engravings,  beautifully 
executed  on  Steel, 

BY  J.  SARTAIN,  PHILADELPHIA, 

INCJLUDING 

Infancy,  (Vignette  Title,)  Designed by  Schnaitz. 

Childhood,  Painted "  Eichholtz. 

Boyhood,  (Frontispiece,)  Painted "  Osgood. 

Girlhood - "  Rossiter. 

Maidenhood * "  Rothermel. 

The  Bride "  Rossiter. 

The  Mother "  Rossiter. 

The  Widow "  Rossiter. 

Manhood,  Designed "  Rothermel. 

Old  Age "  Rothermel. 

The  Shrouded  Mirror,  Designed "  Rev.  Dr.  Morton, 

The  literary  contents  comprise  original  articles  in  prose  and  verse,  from 
the  pens  of 

Rev.  G.  W.  Bethujte,  Rev.  Clement  M.  Butler,  Mrs.  Sioourwet,  Mrs 

Osgood,  Mrs.  Hale,  Mrs.  Ellet,  J.  T.  Headlet,  Rev.  M,  A.  D« 

Wolfe  Howe,  Miss  Sedgwick,  Rev.  Wm.  B.  Sprague,  Rev. 

H.  Hastings  Weld,  Miss  Caroline  E.  Roberts,  Bushrod 

Bartlett,  Esa.,  Alice  G.  Lee,  Hope  Hesseltine, 

,    AND   OTHER  FAVOURITE  AUTHORS  OF   OUR  OWN  COUNTRY. 

EDITED  BY  MRS.  L.  C.  TUTHILL, 

And  richly  bound  in  various  styles* 


OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS. 


i 


TTiis  is  an  elegant  volume ;  with  an  excellent  design,  combining  all  that  is  attract!' 
In  typographical  execution,  with  beautiful  engravings,  it  illustrates  the  progress  < 
human  life  in  a  series  of  mezzotints  of  the  most  finished  style.  These  handsome  pic»' 
turcs  present  boyhood  and  girlhood,  the  lover  and  the  loved,  the  bride  and  the  mother, 
the  widow  and  old  age,  with  many  other  scenes  that  will  leave  a  pleasing  and  salutary 
impression.  The  literary  department  is  executed  by  a  variety  of  able  and  entertaining 
writers,  forming  altogether  a  beautiful  gift-book,  appropriate  to  all  seasons.— JV*.  Y.  Ob- 
server 


A  most  beautiful  gem  of  a  book,  and  a  superb  specimen  of  artistical  skill,  as  well  as 
a  "Mirror  of  Life."  As  a  brilliant  and  tasteful  ornament  for  the  centre-table,  or  a 
memento  of  affection  and  good  wishes,  to  be  presented  in  the  form  of  a  Birthday, 
Christmas,  or  New  Year's  gift,  to  a  friend,  it  is  riclily  entitled  to  the  consideration  and 
patronage  of  the  public— Christian  Observer. 


The  idea  is  a  happy  one,  and  the  work  is  every  way  worthy  of  its  subject.  Without 
being  too  costly,  it  is  in  every  respect  a  very  handsome  volume;  the  sentiments  it  con- 
tains are  not  only  unobjectionable,  but  salutary;  and  we  cannot  conceive  a  gift  of  the 
kind  which,  between  iatelligent  friends,  would  be  more  acceptable  to  the  receiver  ox 
honourable  to  the  giver.— A*.  Y.  Commercial, 


LINDSAY  &  BLAKISTON'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


A  BOOK  FOR  EVERY  CHRISTIAN, 

THE   SECOND  EDITION. 


MEMOIR  OF  MISS  MARGARET  MERCER. 

BY  CASPAR  MORRIS,  M.D. 

A  neat  ISmo.  volumej  with  a  beautiful  Engraved 
PORTRAIT  OF  MISS  MERCER. 

OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS. 
Miss  Mercer  was  a  daughter  of  the  late  Governor  Mercer,  of  Maryland.  Her  father, 
who  was  a  Virginian,  and  the  descendant  of  a  distinguished  family,  removed  to  Straw- 
•>erry  Hill,  near  Annapolis,  Md.,  soon  after  his  marriage.  In  the  memoir  of  the  daughter, 
tve  have  the  moral  portraiture  of  a  character  of  great  moral  worth.  Miss  Mercer  was 
a  Christian,  who  earnestly  sought  to  promote  the  glory  of  the  Saviour,  in  persevering 
efforts  to  be  useful  in  every  position,  and  especially  as  a  teacher  of  the  young.  Her 
energy  of  mind  and  elevated  principles,  united  with  humility  and  gentleness,  and  devoted 
piety,  illustrated  in  her  useful  life,  rendered  her  example  worthy  of  a  lasting  memorial. 
The  work  is  accompanied  by  numerous  extracts  from  her  correspondence.  —  Christian, 
Observer,  

The  perusal  of  this  Memoir  will  do  good ;  it  shows  how  much  can  be  accomplished  by 
superior  talents,  under  the  control  of  a  heart  imbued  with  love  to  the  Saviour.  The 
contemplation  of  the  character  of  Miss  Mercer  may  lead  others  to  put  forth  similar 
efforts,  arnd  reap  a  like  reward.— CAnsiian  Chronicle. 

It  is  impossible  to  read  this  Memoir  without  the  conviction  that  Miss  Mercer  was  a 
Very  superior  woman,  both  in  her  attainments  and  her  entire  self-consecration.  In 
laying  down  the  book,  We  feel  alike  admiration  for  the  biographer  and  the  subject  of  the 
Memoir. — Presbyterian. 


WATSON'S  NEW  DICTIONARY  OF  POEllCAL  QUOTATIONS. 

A  neat  12mo*  Volume  in  plain  and  extra  bindings* 


A  NEW  DICTIONARY  OF  POETICAL  QUOTATIONS, 

CONSISTING  OF  ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  ON  EVERY  SUBJECT, 

Compiled  from  various  Authors,  and  arranged  under  appropriate  heads, 

BY  JOHXr  T.  -WATSOlStj  IMC.D. 

OPINIONS  OF  THE   PRESS. 
We  may  safely  recommend  this  book  as  a  collection  of  some  of  the  most  beautiful 
conceptions,  elegantly  expressed,  to  be  found  in  the  range  of  English  and  American 
poetry. — Saturday  Courier. 

We  regard  this  as  the  best  book  of  a  similar  character  yet  published. — QerTnantmon 

Telegraph. 

In  this  Dictionary  of  Quotations  every  subject  is  touched  upon ;  and,  while  the  selec- 
tion has  been  carefully  made,  it  has  the  merit  of  containing  the  best  thoughts  of  the 
Poets  of  our  own  day,  which  no  other  collection  has.— 17.  S.  Gazette. 

The  selections  in  this  book  are  made  with  taste  from  all  poets  of  note,  and  are  classed 
under  a  great  variety  of  suhiects.— Presbyterian. 


The  Quotations  appear  to  have  been  selected  with  great  judgment  and  taste,  by  one 
well  acquainted  with  whatever  is  nost  elegant  and  beautiful  in  the  whole  range  of 
literature.— 'CArisfian  Observer. 


LINDSAY  &   BLAKISTON 

HAVE  JUST  PUBLISHED 

THE  WOMEN   OF  THE  SCRIPTURES, 

ED  ITED    BY     THE 

KEV.   H.   HASTINGS   WEJLD; 

WITH 

ORIGINAL  LITERARY  CONTRIBUTIONS, 

BY 

DISTINGUISHED  AMERICAN  WRITERS: 

BEAUTIFULLY   ILLUSTRATED   BY 

TWELVE  SUPERB  ENGRAVINGS  ON  STEEL, 
BY  J.  SARTAIN.  PHILADELPHIA, 

rHOM  OHIGIWAL  DESIGNS,  EXPEESSLY  FOR  THE  WORK, 

BY  T.  P.   ROSSITER.  NEW   YORK! 


Miriam, 
Eve, 
Sarah, 
Rachel, 


INCLUDING 

Hannah, 

Ruth, 

Queen  of  Sheba, 

Shunatnite, 


Esther, 

Tlie  Syropheniciaa 

Martha, 

The  Marys. 


Elegantly  Bound  in  White  Calf,  Turkey  Morocco,  and  Cloth 
Extra,  with  Gilt  Edges. 


PREFACE. 

The  subject  of  this  book  entitles  it  to  a  high  place  among  illustrated 
volumes.  The  execution,  literary  and  artistic,  will,  we  are  confident,  be 
found  worthy  of  the  theme ;  since  we  have  received  the  assistance  of 
authors  best  known  in  the  sacred  literature  of  our  country,  in  presenting, 
in  their  various  important  attitudes  and  relations,  the  Womex  of  the 
Scriptures.  The  contents  of  the  volume  were  prepared  expressly  for  it, 
with  the  exception  of  the  pages  from  the  pen  of  Mrs.  Balfour ;  and  for  the 
republication  of  her  articles,  no  one  who  reads  them  will  require  an  apology. 
The  designs  for  the  engravings  are  original;  and  the  Publishers  trust  that 
in  the  present  volume  they  have  made  their  best  acknowledgment  for  the 
favour  with  which  its  predecessors  have  been  received.  The  whole,  they 
believe,  will  be  found  no  inapt  memento  of  those  to  whom  St.  Peter  refers 
the  sex  for  an  ensample :  *'  the  holy  women,  in  the  old  time." 


I 


WOMEN  OF  THE  SCRIPTURES 


OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS. 

"  The  artistical  merits  of  this  work  are  of  a  very  high  order.  The  plates  ar« 
all  meritorious,  and  some  of  them  are  eminently  beautiful.     The  engraving  of 

*  Miriam'  rejoicing  over  the  destruction  of  Pharaoh  and  his  host  is  the  frontis- 
piece, and  would  adorn  Heath's  Book  of  Beauty.  *Eve,'  as  the  vignette  title, 
is  the  most  exquisite  engraving  we  ever  saw.  It  is  spirited,  life-like  and  beauti- 
ful. *  Sarah'  does  not  please  our  judgment,  but  its  defects  are  amply  atoned 
for  in  the   engraving  of  '  Rachel.'      There   are    portions  of  the  engraving  of 

*  Hannah'  that  are  very  fine,  but  Hannah's  face  is  rather  childish  for  a  mother. 

*  Ruth'  is  a  beautiful  piece  of  art.  The  '  Queen  of  Sheba'  is  beautiful  enough 
to  have  made  Solomon  forget  some  of  his  wisdom.    The  *  Shunamite,'  *  Esther,' 

The  Syrophenician  Woman,'  *  Martha,'  and  the  *  Mary's'  are  all  engravings  of 
touch  merit,  and  several  of  them  are  very  beautiful. 

*'  We  cordially  commend  this  book  to  gentlemen  who  wish  to  pay  a  real  com- 
pliment to  a  lady  of  taste  and  good  judgment.  It  is  no  idle  rattle  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  an  hour,  but  is  a  substantial  work  of  merit." — Louisville  Courier, 

**  This  beautiful  octavo  volume  is  adorned  with  twelve  illustrations,  engraved 
on  steel  by  Sartain,  from  original  designs  by  Rossiter.  We  need  only  say  that 
they  are  of  the  highest  order,  and  render  unnecessary  the  encouragement  of 
foreign  artists,  while  we  have  in  our  midst  the  skill  which  can  furnish  such  life- 
like forms  of  female  loveliness  as  this  volume  contains.  The  paper,  type,  bind- 
ing and  decoration  ef  the  work  are  in  entire  accordance  with  its  pictorial  embel- 
lishments, and  thus  far,  we  can  pronounce  it  one  of  the  handsomest  volumes  that 
has  ever  issued  from  the  American  press." — Episcopal  Recorder. 

**This  is  an  avant  courier  of  those  beautiful  productions  of  the  press  which 
herald  the  approach  of  Christmas  holidays,  when  kindly  feehngs  display  them- 
selves in  the  presentation  of  souvenirs.  Mr.  Weld  has  already  made  himself 
favourably  known  as  the  editor  of  several  beautiful  volumes  of  this  class.  In  all 
its  appliances,  this  is  a  rich  and  sumptuous  volume,  most  specially  attractive  to 
the  eye  by  its  clear  typography,  and  its  elegant  mezzotint  engravings.  The  lite- 
rary contributions  are  written  with  a  view  to  instruct,  as  well  as  to  please.  They 
are  almost  entirely  original,  and  have  emanated  from  skilful  pens.  We  com- 
mend the  book  to  those  who  have  any  pretension  to  taste  in  this  department  of 
literature." — Freshyterian, 

**  The  pages  of  this  work  are  also  enriched  with  original  contributions  from 
some  of  the  ablest  and  most  popular  writers,  illustrating  the  sacred  themes  pre- 
sented in  its  embellishments. 

"  As  a  book  for  the  holidays  and  for  all  seasons — as  a  book  for  pure  minds  and 
an  ornament  for  the  centre-table,  it  is  eminently  attractive. 

**  This  rich  and  splendid  and  truly  valuable  book,  has  been  issued  in  anticipa- 
tion of  the  season  when  many  are  accustomed  to  give,  or  receive  tokens  of  esteem 
and  affection.  Its  workmanship  is  superlatively  elegant  and  tasteful  in  every 
respect.  It  is  very  beautifully  embellished  with  twelve  highly  finished  engrav- 
ings, portraying  the  characters  of  those  'holy  women'  of  old,  whose  names  have 
been  written  among  the  stars,  by  the  pen  of  inspiration." — Christian  Observer. 

"It  is  seldom  that  we  meet  with  a  volume  which,  like  this,  blends  at  once  so 
high  artistic  and  literary  merit.  Among  the  issues  with  which  the  press  teems, 
it  is  a  pearl  of  richness  and  beauty  that  relieves  the  sight.  Such  additions  to  the 
fir»e  arts  and  to  our  elegant  literature,  we  heartily  welcome.  The  conception  of 
the  work  is  admirable,  aiming,  as  it  does,  at  clothing  with  fresh  interest,  the 
more  prominent  female  characters  whose  history  is  given  us  in  the  Bible.  In  the 
performance  of  this  object,  the  pens  of  a  number  of  well  known  writers  have 
been  engaged,  who  throw  these  characters  upon  a  canvass  of  life.  To  do  this 
effectually,  the  power  of  imagination  is  made,  in  prose  and  in  verse,  to  lend  its 
charms,  while  the  art  of  the  engraver,  and  the  skill  of  the  binder  have  each  been 
laid  under  special  c:»iitributioil." — Christian  Reflcctcr. 


CHESTERFIELDIAN   POCKET   MANUALS 
OF   ETIQUETTE,   &c. 

LINDSAY  AND  BLAKISTON  have  just  issued  new  editions  of  this  popular 

series  of  Manuals,  some  of  which  have  met  with  so  much  favour 

as  to  have   passed  through  more  than  Twenty 

Editions.    The  series  includes — 

THE  YOUNG   HUSBAND, 

A.    MANUAL    OF    THE    DUTIES,    MORAL,    RELIGIOUS,    AND    DOMESTIC, 

IMPOSED  BY  THE  RELATION  OF   MARRIED   LIFE. 

THS   YOUNG  W^ZFE, 

A    MANUAL    OF    MORAL,    RELIGIOUS,   AND    DOMESTIC    DUTIES, 

BEING   A   COMPANION   TO   •♦THE  YOUNG  HUSBAND." 

ETIQUETTE  FOR   OENTZiEMEN, 

OR,    SHORT    RULES    AND    REFLECTIONS    FOR   CONDUCT    IN    SOCIETY. 

ETIQUETTE   FOR   I.ADIES, 

WITH  HINTS  ON  THE  PRESERVATION,  IMPROVEMENT,  ETC.,  OF  FEMALE  BEAUTY. 


THE  HAND  BOOK  FOR  THE  MAN  OF  FASHION, 

OR   CANONS    OF   GOOD    BREEDING. 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "ETiaUETTE  FOR  GENTLEMEN." 

Each  volume  contains  an  illuminatod  title-page,  and  is  neatly  bound  in 

embossed  cloth,  with  plain  or  gilt  edges,  and  gilt  sides, 

suitable  for  the  centre-table. 

THE  YOUNG   LADIES'  HOME, 

BY    MRS.    L.    O.    TUTHILL, 
AUTHOR  OF  "  I  WILL  BE  A  LADY,"  "  I  WILL  BE  A  GENTLEMAN,"  &c..  &c. 

"A  Traveller  betwixt  life  and  death; 
The  reason  firm,  the  temperate  will, 
Endurance,  foresight,  strength  and  skill. 
To  warn,  to  comfort  and  command; 
And  yet  a  spirit  still  and  bright. 
With  something  of  an  angel  light." 

Wordsworth. 

A  neat  12mo  volume,  in  embossed  cloth,  with  plain  or  gilt  edges. 
The  object  which  the  intelligent  author  of  this  volume  has  in  view,  is  to  awake 
the  attention  of  young  ladies  to  fhe  important  duties  of  life  which  devolve  upo 
them,  after  they  have  ceased  their  scholastic  exercises.  In  doing  so,  she  endea 
vours  to  teach  them  something  of  the  formation  of  character,  and  offers  ther 
various  useful  hints  for  their  improvement,  mentally  and  physically ;  explains  t 
them  the  station  they  are  to  occupy  in  society,  and  sets  before  them  in  its  tru 
light  the  responsibility  they  incur  by  a  neglect  of  their  proper  duties,  in  their  to 
eager  pursuit  of  the  follies  of  the  day.  Such  a  book  cannot  fail  to  be  useful,  an 
we  hope  it  may  be  read  extensively. — 'Baltimore  American, 


BETHUNE'S  POEMS. 


B 


LINDSAY   &  BLAKISTON   PUBLISH, 

LAYS    OF    LOVE    AND    FAITH, 

WITH    OTHER 

FUGITIVE  POEMS. 

BY  THE 

REV.    G.    W.    BETHUNE,   D.D. 

This  is  an  elegant  Volume,  beautifully  printed  on  the  finest  and  whitest 
paper,  and  richly  bound  in  various  styles. 


As  one  arranges  in  a  simple  vase 

A  little  store  of  unpretending  flowers. 

So  gathered  I  some  records  of  past  hours. 
And  trust  them,  gentle  reader,  to  thy  grace. 
Nor  hope  that  in  my  pages  thou  wilt  trace 

The  brilliant  proof  of  high  poetic  powers; 
But  dear  memorials  of  happy  days, 

When  heaven  shed  blessings  on  my  heart  like  showers, 
Clothing  with  beauty  e'en  the  desert  place; 
Till  I,  with  thankful  gladness  in  my  looks. 

Turned  me  to  God,  sweet  nature,  loving  friends, 
Christ's  little  children,  well-worn  ancient  books. 

The  charm  of  Art,  the  rapture  music  sends ; 
And  sang  away  the  grief  that  on  man's  lot  attends. 


OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS. 

We  beg  leave  to  express  our  thanks  to  the  diligent  author  of  these  Poems,  for  this 
additional  and  highly  valuable  contribution  to  the  treasures  of  American  literature. 
The  prose  writings  of  Dr.  Bethune,  by  their  remarkably  pure  and  chaste  language, 
their  depth  and  clearness  of  thought,  their  force  and  beauty  of  illustration,  and  by  their 
intelligent  and  elevated  piety,  have  justly  secured  to  him  a  place  with  the  very  best 
authors  of  our  land,  whose  works  are  destined  to  exert  a  wide-spread  and  most  salutary 
influence  on  the  forming  character  and  expanding  mind  of  our  growing  republic.  This 
volume  of  his  collected  poetry,  though  it  be,  as  the  author  observes  in  his  beautiful 
introductory  sonnet,  but  the  "gathered  records  of  past  hours,"  or  the  fruit  of  moments 
of  industrious  relaxation  from  more  severe  labours,  may  without  fear  take  its  place  by 
the  side  of  our  best  poetic  productions ;  and  there  are  many  pieces  in  it,  which,  for 
accuracy  of  rhythm,  for  refined  sentiment,  energy  of  thought,  flowing  and  lucid  ex- 
pression, and  subduing  pathos,  are  unsurpassed  by  any  writer. 

Exteriorly,  and  in  the  matters  of  paper  and  typography,  this  is  an  elegant  volume, 
and  so  far  is  a  fitting  casket  for  the  gems  it  contains— for  gems  these  beautiful  poems 
are,  of  "purest  ray  serene" — lustrous  jewels — ornaments  of  purest  virgin  gold. 

Many  hallowed  breathings  will  be  found  among  the  poems  here  collected — all  distin- 
guished by  correct  taste  and  refined  feeling,  rarely  dazzling  by  gorgeous  imagery,  but 
always  charming  by  their  purity  and  truthfulness  to  nature. — .AT.  Y.  Commercial. 

The  author  of  this  volume  has  a  gifted  mind,  improved  by  extensive  education;  a 
•-hoerfnl  temper,  chastened  by  religion  ;  a  sound  taste,  refined  and  improved  by  extensive 
observation  and  much  reading,  and  the  gift  of  poetry. — J^orth  .American. 

The  Volume  before  us  contains  much  that  is  truly  beautiful ;  many  gems  that  sparkle 
with  genius  and  feeling.  They  are  imbued  with  the  true  spirit  of  poesy,  and  may  bf 
read  again  and  again  with  pleasure. — Inquirer, 


LINDSAY  &  BLAKISTON  PUBLISH, 

SCENES  IN  THE  LIVES  OF  THE  PATRIARCHS 
AND  PROPHETS ; 

ACOMPANIONTOTHE 

SCENES  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  SAVIOUR  AND  THE  APOSTLEa 

EDITED  BY  THE  REV.  II.  HASTINGS  WELD. 

BEAUTIFULLY  ILLUSTRATED  BY 

EIGHT   ENGRAVINGS    ON    STEEL,   BY   SARTAIN. 

INCLUDING 

Saul  presenting  his  Daughter  to  David Painted  by  Woodforde. 

A  View  of  Hebron,  Vignette  Title-page. . ..  «  Bracebridge. 

God's  Covenant  w^ith  Noah "  Rothermel. 

Abraham  Offering  up  Isaac **  WestalL 

The  Arrival  of  Rebekah «  Schopin. 

Jacob  at  the  House  of  Laban •*  Schopin. 

Moses  Smiting  tlie  Rock •*  Murillo. 

>   Elijah  Fed  by  Ravens ««  Corbould. 

With  a  choice  Selection  of  Matter  from  the  Writings  of 

Milton,  Hemans,  Wordsv^^orth,  Crolt,  Willis,  Young,  Sigournuy 

Whittier,  Howitt,  Scott,  Heber,  Montgomert,  Milman, 

Hannah  More,  Watts,  Dale,  Tappan,  and  other 

Eminent  Writers  of  this  and  other  Countries. 

Handsomely  bound  in  cloth  gillf  Turkey  Morocco,  or  in  while  calf. 


OPINIONS  OP  THE  PRESS. 

The  character  of  the  scenes  represented,  the  pure  and  eloquent  sacred  poetry  which 
the  work  contains,  render  it  a  book  peculiarly  befitting  presentation  at  that  season  when 
the  world  is  celebrating  the  birth  of  its  Saviour.  We  hope  this  joint  effort  of  the  fH»ncil 
and  pen  to  render  familiar  the  sacred  scenes  of  the  Old  Testament,  will  meet  the  support 
which  it  deserves  from  all  lovers  of  the  sacred  volume.— CAnsfian  Advocate  and  Journal. 


We  do  but  simple  justice  when  we  declare,  that  it  has  seldom  fallen  to  our  lot  to 
notice  a  book  which  possesses  so  many  and  such  varied  attractions.  Mr.  Weld  has 
gathered  from  the  best  writers  the  most  beautiful  of  their  works,  in  illustration  of  his 
theme,  and  prepared  for  the  reader  a  rich  repast.  We  are  assured  that  the  volume  before 
us  will,  like  those  which  preceded  it,  come  acceptably  before  the  public,  and  be  a  favourite 
offering  during  the  approacliing  holiday  season. — Graham's  Magazine. 

It  is  a  handsome  octavo,  beautifully  illustrated  with  engravings  on  steel,  in  Sartain'c 
best  manner.  It  is  published  in  uniform  style  with  "The  Scenes  in  the  Life  of  the  - 
Saviour,"  and  is  every  way  worthy  to  continue  this  fine  series  of  scriptural  works. 
The  literary  portion  of  the  volume  is  admirably  chosen,  embracing  many  of  the  most 
distinguished  names  in  America.  As  a  work  of  art,  it  is  a  credit  to  the  book-making 
of  our  cowniry.— Boston  Atlas. 

f  This  is  pre-eminently  a  book  of  beauty— printed  in  the  best  style,  on  the  finest  and 
fkirest  paper,  and  embellished  with  the  richest  specimens  of  the  engraver's  art.  Its 
contents  comprise  a  choice  selection  from  the  writings  of  celebrated  poets,  illustrative 
of  the  character,  the  countries,  and  of  the  times  of  the  Patriarchs  and  Prophets.  The 
elevated  spirit  and  character  of  the  sacred  poetry  in  this  volume,  as  well  as  its  surpass- 
ing beauty,  will  render  it  peculiarly  valuable  as  a  present  or  an  ornament  for  the  parloul 
table. — christian  Observer. 


SCENES  IN  THE  LIVES  OF  THE  APOSTLES ; 

ILLUSTRATED    BY 

CELEBRATED  POETS  AND  PAINTERS. 

EDITED    DY 

H.   HASTINGS   WELD. 
Eight  Illustrations,  beautifully  Engraved  on  Steel,  by  Sartaiu* 


Christ's  charge  to  Peter,  bv  Raphael ; 
Peter  and  Jolm  heahng  the  Lame  Man  at  th9 
Beautiful  Gate  of  the  Temple,  b>  Rapiiael; 
Paul  before  Agrippa,  by  Sartain  ; 
Jolm  on  the  Isle  of  Patmos,  by  Deoaine. 


The  Redeemer,  painted  by  Decaine  — Frontis- 
piece ; 

Antioch  in  Syria,  by  Harding— Vignette  title ; 

John  reproving  Herod,  by  Le  Bruu  ; 

Christ,  with  his  Disciples,  weeping  over  Jerusa- 
lem, by  Begas ; 

THE  LITERARY  CONTENTS  CONSIST  OP  UPWARDS  OF  SEVENTY  POEMS,  BY 

Bishop  Fleber,  Lowell,  Keble,  Hannah  F.  Gould,  Clark,  Mrs. 
llemans,  Mrs*  Sigourney,  Barton,  Bryant,  Miss  Landon,  Tap- 
pan,  Pierpont,  Longfellow,  Miss  Davidson,  Dale,  Cros- 
well,  Percival,  Bowring,  and  other  celebrated  Poets. 

Beautifully  bound,  iri  various  styles,  to  match  "  Scenes  in  the  Life 
of  the  Saviour.^' 


We  do  not  know  where  we  could  find  a  more  elegant  and  appropriate 
present  for  a  Christian  friend.  It  will  always  have  value.  It  is  not  one  of 
those  ephemeral  works  which  are  read,  looked  at,  and  forgotten.  Ii  tells  of 
scenes  dear  to  the  hearts  of  Christians,  which  must  ever  find  there  an  abiding 
place. — Baniier  of  the  Cross. 

Here  is  truly  a  beautiful  volume,  admirable  in  design,  and  perfect  in  its 
execution.  I'he  editor,  with  a  refined  taste,  and  a  loving  appreciation  of 
Scripture  history,  has  selected  some  of  the  best  writings  of  ancient  and  modern 
authors  in  illustration  of  various  scenes  in  the  Lives  of  the  Apostles,  whilst 
his  own  facile  pen  has  given  us  in  prose  a  series  of  excellent  contributions. 
The  lyre  of  Ileber  seems  to  vibrate  again  as  we  turn  over  its  pages  ;  and 
Keble,  Jenner,  Cowper,  Herrick,  Bernard,  Barton,  and  a  brilliiint  host  of 
glowing  writers,  shine  again  by  the  light  of  Christian  truth,  and  the  beaming 
effulgence  of  a  pure  religion.  It  is  an  elegant  and  appropriate  volume  for  a 
Christmas  gift. —  Transcript. 

The  exterior  is  novel  and  beautiful ;  the  typography  is  in  the  highest  style 
of  the  art;  and  the  engravings,  nine  in  number,  are  among  the  best  eflxjrta 
of  Mr.  Sartain.  The  prose  articles  contributed  by  the  editor  are  well  written  ; 
and  the  poetical  selections  are  made  with  judgment.  The  volume  is  a  worthy 
companion  of  "  Scenes  in  the  Life  of  the  Saviour,"  and  both  are  much  more 
worthy  of  Christian  patronage  than  the  great  mass  of  annuals. — Presbyterian. 


The  above  volumes  are  among  the  most  elegant  specimens  from  the 
American  press.  In  neatness  and  chasteness  of  execution,  they  are  perhaps 
unsurpassed.  The  engravings  are  of  the  highest  order;  and  illustrate  most 
strikingly,  and  with  great  beauty,  some  of  the  most  sublime  and  the  most 
touching  Scripture  scenes.  They  also  contain  some  of  the  richest  specimens 
of  Sacred  Poetry,  whose  subject  and  style  are  such  as  deeply  to  interest  the 
imagination,  and  at  the  same  time  to  make  the  heart  better.  We  hope  the 
Christian's  table,  at  least,  may  be  adorned  with  the  volumes  above  mentioned, 
and  such  as  these. — New  England  Puritan. 


LINDSAY  &  BLAKISTON 

HAVE  RECENTLY  PUBLISHED, 

SCENES  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  SAVIOURj 

BY  THE 

POETS  AND   PAINTERS: 

CONTAINING 

MAxrir  OHMS   of  art  axtd  aszrius, 

ILLUSTRATIVE     OP 

THE  SAVIOUR'S  LIFE  AND  PASSION. 

EDITED    BY    THE 

REV.  RUFUS  GRISWOLD. 

THE  ILLUSTRATIONS,  WHICH  ARE  EXQUISITELY  ENGRAVED  ON  STEEL, 
BY  JOHN  SARTAIN,  ARE  : 


The  Holy  Family,  painted  by  N.  Poussin ; 
The  S:tviour,  bv  Paul  Hebiroche ; 
Christ  by  the  Well  of  Sychar,  by  Emeli©  Signol ; 
I'he  Daughter  uf  Jariuii,  by  Deloime  ; 


Walking  on  the  Sea.  by  Henry  Richter  | 
The  Ten  Lepers,  by  A.  Vamlyke  : 
Tlie  Last  Sui»per,  by  Benjmiiiii  Vvest ; 
The  Woiueu  at  the  Sepulchre,  by  Philip  Viet. 


THE  LITERARY  CONTENTS,  COMPRISING  SIXTY-FOUR  POEMS,  ARE  BY 

Uliltony  Heinans^  Montgomery)  Keble^  Mrg*  Sigonrney,  9Ilss  Ijan* 

don.  Dale,  Willis,  Bulftnch,  Bethune,  Longfellow,  Wliittier, 

Croly,  Klopstock,  Mrs*  Osgood,  Pierpont,  Crosiswell,  and 

other  celebrated  Poets  of  tliis  and  other  Countries* 

The  volume  is  richly  and  beautifully  bound  in  Turkey  Morocco,  gilt,  white 
calf  extra,  or  embossed  cloth,  gilt  edges,  sides  and  back. 


We  commend  this  volume  to  the  attention  of  those  who  would  place  a 
Souvenir  in  the  hands  of  their  friends,  to  invite  them  in  the  purest  strains  ot 
poetry,  and  by  the  eloquence  of  art,  to  study  the  Life  of  the  Saviour. — Christ.  Obs, 


The  contents  are  so  arranged  as  to  constitute  a  Poetical  and  Pictorial  Life 
of  the  Saviour,  and  we  can  think  of  no  more  appropriate  gift- book.  In  typo- 
graphy, embellishments,  and  binding,  we  have  recently  seen  nothing  more 
tasteful  and  rich. — North  American. 


We  like  this  book,  as  well  for  its  beauty  as  for  its  elevated  character.  It 
is  just  such  an  one  as  is  suited,  either  for  a  library,  or  a  parlour  centre-table  ; 
and  no  one  can  arise  from  its  perusal  without  feeling  strongly  the  subhmiiy 
Hud  enduring  character  of  the  Christian  religion. — Harrishurg  Telegraph. 


This  is  truly  a  splendid  volume  in  all  its  externals,  while  its  contents  are 
richly  worthy  of  the  magnificent  style  in  which  they  are  presented.  As  illus- 
trations  of  the  Life  and  Passion  of  the  Saviour  of  mankind,  it  will  form  an 
appropriate  Souvenir  for  the  season  in  which  we  commemorate  his  coming 
upon  earth. — Neal's  Gazette, 


1 


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